


Stranger

by zuzeca



Category: District 9 (2009)
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Mythology/Religion, Alien Planet, Alien Rituals, Alternate Universe - Shipwrecked, Applied Phlebotinum, Body Horror, Courtship, Denial, F/M, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Hearing Voices, IN SPACE!, Infanticide, M/M, Mpreg, Other, Power Dynamics, Transformation, Unconventional Families, Xenophilia, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/pseuds/zuzeca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last member of a doomed spaceship crew, Wikus crash lands on an alien planet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Repost/clean-up of another really old fic from back when I was writing on the _District 9_ boards on /coq/. Exactly what it says on the tin. An anon asked for an inverted AU where Wikus was the one to land on the prawn homeworld. Still one of my all-time favorites to write. Enjoy.

It started with Ross.

They’d all been so excited to find the new planet, to finally see _green_ after the endless black of space and the unnatural colors of the gas giants. They’d barely waited for the atmospheric test to come out positive before they were tumbling out of the ship, Ross in the lead.

The plants were massive and the scenery picturesque, but for Wikus, the real enjoyment had been in watching Tania light up at the beauty around them, reaching for her journal and hunkering down in front of something which resembled a bromeliad on steroids, her pen already flying over the page.

He smiled, running his thumb over the lump of the wedding ring to which he was still becoming accustomed.

The only sign of animal life they’d found was a single species of small primate, a bit like ugly spider monkeys and Ross, stupid, newbie Ross, had tried to feed one. The creature took the food and even submitted to being picked up and manhandled. They’d taken photos and samples and left and not thought much of it.

The atmosphere was dense enough to interfere with transmission, so they’d spent two days taking samples and launched, planning to return the next day.

That night Ross had gone to Phyllis, the medic, with a headache. She gave him some pain pills and he’d gone to bed.

The next morning, Clive went to the sick bay with a slight cough. Phyllis gave him an antiviral; colds were an easy thing to catch in the ship’s close quarters, but it was better to nip it in the bud then be laid up for a few days. Time was money after all.

They were preparing to land again when Thomas pointed out that Ross, cheerful, always hungry Ross, never made it to breakfast that morning.

When Phyllis finally found him in his berth, he had a fever of one hundred and four. His sheets were soaked with sweat and stained with blood from where he’d been trying cough up his lungs.

She’d initiated immediate lockdown. Anyone with flu symptoms was to self isolate. She took samples of Ross’s blood and mucus and locked herself in the sick bay; told them she’d be out when she had a cure and not before.

They’d encouraged her, but they all knew that viruses were tricky bastards, and that the chances of her succeeding were slim.

Wikus was one of the next to get sick. It hit like a hurricane and left him weak and mostly delirious. His memories of the time were vague and confused. He recalled seeing Tania sitting beside him, masked, fluorescent lights a blinding halo around her gold hair. He tried to call her, angel, angel, but his mouth was full of blood and the words wouldn’t form.

 

He woke suddenly, fever broken and cool for the first time in what felt like forever. Tania was stroking his head and he startled her when he asked for water. His throat felt like someone had taken an electric sander to it. He drank until he felt he could speak again and asked what had happened.

He thought that Phyllis might have found a cure, but Tania told him that the rest of the crew had broken into sick bay after three days to find her in a pool of blood.

Ross was already long dead.

One by one, it took them all: Clive, Thomas, Les and James.

All gone.

He clutched her arm, asked how she was. She pushed him down, soothed him, looking over the line of the surgical mask, and lied to him, said yes, yes, I’m fine, not sick Wikus, sleep now.

He woke alone, still weak and aching, desperately thirsty.

He staggered from the room and tripped over her. She was sitting propped up against the doorway, skin pale and grey, surgical mask soaked through with blood.

He’d sat on the floor staring at her, then reached out and touched.

She was ice cold.

He didn’t remember screaming, but he did recall the silence and the taste of blood when his throat gave out.

The next several days were a blur. Everywhere he went he saw them, dead eyes staring, slack mouths stained with blood.

He was trapped in a metal coffin.

Half-mad with fear and grief, he staggered into the control room with the idea of getting somewhere _away_. His hands trembled as he punched the familiar sequence of buttons and watched the cursed planet recede until it was swallowed up in the vastness of space.

He slumped down in the control chair, covered his face and sobbed.

 

It was a shock when the gravity well of a planet snagged his ship. Engines screamed in protest as the ship was dragged off course and Wikus was thrown to the floor. He scrambled for the controls on pure instinct and tried to pull up, but he was nearly out of fuel and the engines couldn’t muster the power to fight the pull.

The ship bucked like a dying thing and plunged into the atmosphere.

Superheated air glowed at the edges of the windows and clouds whipped by.

A terrible, dark feeling welled up inside him and Wikus gripped the controls until he thought they would break, howling in wordless defiance. In the background he heard the screech of metal tearing.

“Left engine gone,” Les murmured in his ear.

The ground loomed before him.

“Reddish. High iron content,” commented Thomas.

Trees snapped against the hull of the ship as it tore along parallel to the earth.

“Bears some resemblance to _Mimosoideae_ ,” said Tania “isn’t it incredible, Wikus?”

He hit.

His head rebounded off the control panel. Stars exploded in his vision.

“Orange giant system,” Clive remarked, “A bit cooler than our sun. Must be why the planet’s closer.”

Wikus sagged into the chair and passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

Wikus came to slowly, awakened by the light streaming through the windows of the flight deck. His head ached and he felt gingerly along his hairline, wincing as a forming scab broke beneath his fingers and fresh blood ran down his face.

It was utterly silent. The engines must have shut down.

Shaky, he rose to his feet, feeling the dull ache the virus had left in his muscles beneath the sharp pain of new bruises, and made his way to the hatch.

He hesitated a moment before opening it. Every bit of training was telling him to wait, test the atmosphere, check for hostile life forms.

“Fok it,” he said aloud, “You want to kill me, you fokking go ahead.”

He twisted the lever on the hatch and pushed.

It gave with only a minimal effort, clanging against the hull of the ship. He blinked in the bright sunlight and took a breath.

When that first breath didn’t kill him he leaned out of the hatch and peered about. Towards the aft of ship he could see part of the swath he’d cut through the grove of trees.

He’d thought he was in a forest, but beyond the trees he could see open grasslands spreading into infinity. In the distance he could just make out a group of dark shapes moving through the grass, alive.

He went to James’s cabin and dug through his things. The captain was a big nature buff; Wikus knew he’d have binoculars.

He avoided looking at James’s bloated body, still tucked into his berth.

The binoculars were huge, heavy around his neck and bumped against the hull as he climbed the ladder rungs to the top of the ship, pausing every so often and just clinging when dizziness overcame him.

At the top he settled into a seated position and lifted the binoculars, cursing as he tried to adjust them for his vision. Why the fok did James have to get binoculars with so many knobs?

The blobs jerked and leaped in and out of focus as he fiddled with the knobs. When they finally came in clearly, what he saw made him check the settings again.

They were big, he could tell that from here; the binoculars revealed brown and black armor plating that shifted over high domed backs. Their legs were hidden in the long grass, but the way that they moved was smooth, almost gliding along the ground.

“Could be indicative of multipedal locomotion,” James observed. “Only organisms we’ve got on earth like that are—”

“Shut up,” Wikus muttered.

He turned the binoculars toward one of the nearby trees, scanning the branches. Near the top of one he spied a colorful flash of green and purple. A creature, roughly the size of a parrot as close as he could tell, was buzzing about the tree, feeding on bright flowers through a long proboscis.

The binoculars clunked against the hull as he put them down and flopped against the ship, groaning as the movement jarred his aching head.

“Bugs,” he said. “It had to be fokking bugs, didn’t it?”

“Cheer up, Wikus,” said James. “At least it isn’t snakes.”

 

Wikus would have been content to simply lie on the top of the ship and sleep forever, but eventually thirst and the baking sun drove him back inside. After escaping and seeing blue skies, a strangely comforting parallel in a place so utterly alien, he was more reluctant than ever to return to the metal tomb.

Out of habit he checked the control panel to see if any power remained, but only received a blank screen for his efforts. It was possible that some fuses had blown and he could revive the ship with a few replacements, but he wasn’t sure, especially with the engine gone.

Ross had been the engineer.

He uncovered a few bottles of water while rooting through storage and nearly drained one before he came to his senses. He wasn’t sure whether there was a water source nearby; he should save some.

With his thirst eased, another matter which his mind had been shying away from came to the forefront. Namely the problem of what to do with his friendscrewmates _wife_ , the bodies.

Wikus swallowed hard. He wasn’t ready to deal with this.

“Introduction of heat and airborne organisms can accelerate the decomposition process,” Phyllis said.

“Scent may attract predators,” James chimed in.

“God,” Wikus whimpered, clutching his head. “I can’t…”

“The emergency tarps are waterproof,” said Tania, taking pity on him. “And there are plenty of them. It’s okay, Wikus.”

The tarps were a lurid orange, meant to be seen by emergency crews, but they were wide enough, and had ties along the edges.

He did Thomas first, then James and Les, rolling them off their bunks onto the tarps and wrapping them in the cabins before dragging them into main room. Clive had collapsed near the door of sick bay, so he did him and Phyllis next. Then Ross, during which he dropped the kid three times to go be sick out of the hatch of the ship.

It took him two hours to work up the nerve to go to Tania.

Finally he had them lined up like strange orange sausages in the control room. Lacking a means to carry them down and not wanting to toss them to the ground, he strung some light rope through the grips on either side of the hatch and lowered them as best he could.

He strapped a collapsible shovel to his back and climbed after them.

He dragged James, at least he thought it was James, he had forgotten to mark them and he wasn’t about to check, several hundred feet from the ship, where the trees opened up into waving grass.

“Fewer tree roots to interfere with digging,” said Tania. “Be careful of your back, love.”

He had no idea how long it took him, hacking at the dirt as he scooped out a shallow grave for each of them, ignoring the burn of the sun on the back of his neck. His head was pounding by the time he rolled the last of them into a hole, scooping up the dirt into a crude mound.

His legs gave out from under him and he sank to the ground, staring through bleary eyes at the seven graves.

He was so tired.

Logic told him that he was exposed, at risk in the open, especially so close to the scent of death, but grief told logic to shove it. He slumped over; half propped on his shovel, and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Gqunh gripped his gun in one hand and peered over the rise of the hill, antennae twitching as he watched the strange pink and grey creature struggle with the orange objects.

“What do you suppose it is?” clicked Jwarrah, scratching between two orange exoskeletal plates.

“Not sure,” grunted Gqunh. He glanced at Kkrokpe, “Any ideas?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” clicked Kkrokpe.

“Do you think we can eat it?” said Jwarrah.

Kkrokpe narrowed his eyes, “I think it might be sentient.”

“What makes you say that?” clicked Jwarrah.

Kkrokpe cocked his head. “Besides the fact it came here in a ship? Look at those,” he indicated the orange objects. “See the shape? And the similar size?”

Gqunh let out a low click, “Bodies.”

“Indeed.”

“Think it killed them?” Jwarrah said. “That’s pretty impressive; it doesn’t look like it has any weapons.”

“Don’t be foolish,” snapped Kkrokpe. “Why would it bury them then?”

“Shut it, hatchling,” Gqunh said, reaching over and giving Jwarrah a sharp cuff. Jwarrah clicked indignantly at him. “Look,” he indicated to the left of the creature, which was sitting very still before the graves. Slender hexapedal creatures were slinking through the grass, “Qoko.” He adjusted his grip on his weapon. “What do you suggest?”

Kkrokpe rose. “Jwarrah,” he said, “get back to the Hive. Gqunh, you’re with me.”

“Unfair,” Jwarrah huffed. “Why do I have to go back?”

“You can tangle with Qoko when you’re big enough to carry a weapon,” Kkrokpe said, leaping forward with Gqunh at his side. “Come on, we better hurry. That creature might be sentient, but it doesn’t seem very bright.”

 

A soft chittering noise startled Wikus out of his doze. He raised his aching head.

Something was perched on one of the graves, prodding at the dirt with slender forelegs.

“Hey!” he tried to shout, but his throat was so dry it came out as more of a croak. “Get away from there!”

A wedge-shaped head snapped up and tilted on its axis, bulging eyes staring at him for a moment or two, before it went back to digging.

Angry, he groped at his side and flung a clod of dirt at it. It wasn’t a very big lump, but the creature still squawked when it hit it, leaping back.

A low buzzing noise rose around him and Wikus froze.

They were everywhere, dozens of them, watching him.

He gripped his shovel more tightly.

One on his left lunged, enlarged mandibles snapping open.

He swung the shovel and connected, but another was already on him. He shouted as mandibles snapped closed around his upper arm, ripping through the grey uniform and into the flesh below. One foot snapped out and he heard the crunch of exoskeleton beneath his boot.

One of the bugs nearby gave a buzzing shriek, and exploded into a thousand pieces.

They all froze, Wikus and the bugs alike.

Another bug exploded, splattering them with bits. The others scattered.

Galvanized into life, Wikus swung his shovel, beating at the creature still clinging to his arm.

Something wrapped around the bug’s slender thorax and he lashed out without thinking, but was stopped by a sudden painful pressure around his wrist.

He jerked his head up.

A bipedal creature with a brown exoskeleton towered over him, three fingered hand fastened tight around his wrist.

It made a series of sharp clicks and gestured with its other hand.

In which it was carrying a massive weapon.

Wikus's fingers uncurled and the shovel thumped to the ground.

Sharp pain shot through his other arm and he flinched, looking back.

A green alien knelt next to him, prying the mandibles of the bug out of his arm.

“Thank you,” he said, an automatic reaction.

The alien looked at him with keen gold-brown eyes, and swiftly twisted the head off of the bug.

Wikus swallowed.

The mandibles relaxed and slid free, followed by a gush of blood.

Wikus jerked and tried to reach for his arm, but the brown alien tightened its grip.

To his surprise, the green alien wrapped a hand around his upper arm, applying pressure over the wound. It clicked a few times and looked at the other alien.

The brown alien narrowed its eyes, but released him.

Wikus immediately reached for his arm, but shuddered, jerking back when his fingers brushed against the alien’s. They were warm and dry, but the thin chitin plates felt foreign.

The alien clicked at him, continuing to press down on the injury.

“Keep applying pressure until the blood starts to clot,” scolded Phyllis.

“Right then,” said Wikus. He looked at the green alien, “Anyone feel like helping me back to the ship?”

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” clicked Gqunh. “You might catch some sort of disease.”

“It would be pointless to rescue it only to let it die,” said Kkrokpe.

“It might die anyway,” said Gqunh. “Look at how delicate it is. No armor plates, no claws, not even wings.”

The creature made several short vocalizations.

“I don’t think it’s as delicate as it seems,” clicked Kkrokpe. “It survived the crash, and whatever killed the others.”

The creature repeated the vocalizations and gestured with its free hand.

“What do you think it wants?” said Gqunh.

Kkrokpe followed the creature’s gesturing arm. “Maybe it wants to return to the ship? Let’s take it back; this might be a good chance to figure out why it’s here.”

“Could be a trap,” Gqunh grumbled.

“Possibly,” said Kkrokpe. “But it’s injured and weak. I don’t think it’s going to try anything.” He rose to his feet, pulling the creature up with him. It staggered and nearly fell, but he caught it and braced its weight with his own, secondary limbs reaching out to steady it as well.

The creature flinched at the touch of the smaller limbs and made a noise. Possibly an indication of distress, by the way it was cowering.

“Only four limbs,” murmured Gqunh.

“But five digits,” said Kkrokpe, making a soothing purr as he reached for one of its forelimbs and examined the hand. “It must have incredible dexterity.”

The creature pulled its limb away and made a similar distressed sound.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” said Kkrokpe.

“It can’t understand you,” said Gqunh.

Kkrokpe tugged the creature back in the direction of the ship. “Let’s get that limb cleaned up. Maybe there are supplies inside.”

“Soft shell,” Gqunh clicked in exasperation.

Kkrokpe ignored him.

 

Wikus staggered back towards the ship, trying not to lean on the green alien beside him. It hadn’t let go of his arm, but the grip, though firm, was far gentler than the brown alien’s had been.

They were unlike anything he’d ever seen. Distinctly insect-like, with six limbs and two sets of antennae, but the gills at their throats and the short waving tentacles that served as primary mouthparts suggested an aquatic origin.

At the base of the ship he gave a slight, hinting tug at his arm. The alien released him and he clambered up the ladder. Behind him he could hear the rasp of exoskeleton on metal. The hair on the back of his neck rose slightly.

They were following him.

“Don’t panic, Wikus,” he mumbled to himself. “They haven’t killed you yet.”

Inside he scooted away from the hatch and watched them enter. They were taller than humans and their antennae brushed the ceiling, which seemed to annoy them. The green alien was twisting its head this way and that, speaking to the brown creature in its clicking language.

Hoping they were distracted, and that they wouldn’t destroy anything, Wikus slipped down the hall to the sick bay.

He skirted the bloodstain where Phyllis had lain and made a beeline for one of the cabinets. He opened it and pulled out a bottle of disinfectant and a roll of bandages before scanning the colored caps of the bottles, searching for the blue color that meant pain relief.

Dizzy, he dumped his supplies on the examination table and stripped off his shirt. There was less light here than outside, but even in the dimness he could see that it was a nasty bite. He just hoped they weren’t poisonous. He unscrewed the cap on the disinfectant, took a deep breath, and splashed some on the wound.

He couldn’t completely hold back his cry. Eyes watering, he stuffed his fist in his mouth and tried to breathe.

When the burning died down to an ache he groped for the bandage and started rolling it around his arm, his hand shaking.

Green fingers laid themselves over his own, taking the roll from him. He froze and looked at the alien, but it only clicked several times and continued winding the bandage around his arm, tearing it off and knotting the ends with surprising deftness when it was done.

It stepped back and he reached for the pain pills and one of the little bottles of orange juice Phyllis kept around for warding off colds. The pills felt as large as boulders in his throat and he barely choked them down.

The brown alien had entered behind the other and was examining his shirt where he had left it on the floor. It turned the ripped, dirty thing over, making several clicking noises to its compatriot. The green alien chirped in response.

His legs started to tremble again as the shock of his injury caught up with him. Wishing to avoid a repeat of the walk back, Wikus tottered over to the narrow bunk in the wall where Phyllis had sometimes slept when working late. He sank down and watched the two aliens chatter back and forth. They seemed to be arguing.

“Hope it’s not a ‘boiled versus fried’ debate,” he muttered, leaning his sore head against the wall as he waited for the medication to take effect.

 

“Absolutely not,” clicked Gqunh.

“It would not be for long,” said Kkrokpe, frustrated. “I would stay here myself, but my son is at home. I need to return to him.”

“Why can’t we just leave it?” said Gqunh. “It should be fine.”

“It is injured and vulnerable, and difficult to move, especially with dark falling,” said Kkrokpe. “I will return in the morning with supplies.” He spread his hands in supplication, “Please, my friend.”

Gqunh huffed, “Very well, I will stay and nest watch, but on one condition.” He fixed Kkrokpe with a stare. “You will inform the Leader what the supposed ‘space debris’ he saw is.”

“One creature is hardly an invasion party,” Kkrokpe protested.

“It may have been separated from a larger fleet,” said Gqunh. “The Hive’s safety is paramount. Don’t allow compassion to overwhelm common sense.”

Kkrokpe raised a hand. “I understand. Let me make sure it is well and I will leave right away.”

“You must drive your hatchling mad,” clicked Gqunh, settling himself onto one of the metal stools and steadying his weapon in his lap.

 

Wikus only had a momentary warning as the clicking ceased before alien hands were on him again. His eyes flew open. The green alien had him by the shoulders and was pushing down lightly, clicking at him, trying to maneuver him down into the bunk.

Wikus's eyes rounded and he began to splutter. “Now wait just a fokking minute!”

The alien cocked its head at him and pointed at the bunk, chirping.

Wikus resisted the urge to grab for the blankets and cover himself like an old cinema damsel. Still painfully aware of the gun in the brown alien’s hand, he tried to be diplomatic. “Er, not that I’m not grateful for the assistance and everything, but I’m…” Married? Not into bugs? Not ready to have eggs laid in my chest cavity? “I have a headache.”

_Brilliant, Wikus._

The alien gave him a look that might be considered puzzled, if puzzled was a Picasso, tapped his injured arm, hard enough to make him gasp, and pointed at the bunk once more.

Oh.

“Right then,” Wikus said, grabbing for the blankets and covering himself over hastily. “Thank God you can’t understand me.”

The green alien patted his head and clicked to its companion before scooping up its weapon and exiting.

Leaving Wikus alone with the brown alien and the gun.

The alien stared at him, fingers drumming lightly along the side of its weapon.

The silence was deafening.

“Um…” fumbled Wikus. What should he say?

“We come in peace,” James said.

“Take me to your leader,” added Clive.

“Bah weep granah wheep ni ni bong!” piped Ross.

Wikus choked.

The alien tightened its grip on the gun.

It was promising to be a very long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the naming of prawns: all proper names are converted from the Xhosa language of South Africa, with the exception of Christopher's.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite his nervousness, exhaustion must have overwhelmed Wikus at some point, because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake. The green alien had returned and was leaning over him, tentacles waving and mandibles twitching as it clicked at him.

“Oh,” Wikus croaked, “and here I was hoping you’d turn out to be a fever dream.”

The alien trilled at him and thrust something red into his face.

His hand came up instinctively to grasp it and he winced when it squished beneath his fingers. Liquid trickled down his wrist and he had a sudden awful thought.

His eyes tracked over to where the brown alien was still sitting on the stool. It had laid its gun down and had a hunk of the red stuff between its hands, tearing off bits and gulping them down.

“Oh fok,” he groaned.

The green alien trilled again and mimed putting something into its mouth.

Wikus let his head fall back to the pillow.

“No way,” Wikus said, “absolutely fokking not.”

 

Gqunh picked off a bit of exoskeleton still attached to his meal, watching Kkrokpe fuss over the creature like a parent with a new hatchling.

“What did the Leader have to say when you told him?” he asked.

“He wishes to see it for himself,” Kkrokpe said, clicking in frustration as he tried and failed to make the creature eat. “We’re to bring it as soon as possible.”

“Did he seem concerned?”

Kkrokpe sagged. “Somewhat, we were not aware of another sentient species capable of spaceflight. He wants to know their intentions toward us.”

“That may be difficult with only one organism. However, I examined the ship a bit more while it was resting. It doesn’t appear to have any weapons.”

“This was probably a group of scouts or explorers,” Kkrokpe sounded gloomy. “If others come looking for them they may not be so peaceful.”

“No use worrying, my friend. Let’s get the creature back to the Leader.”

 

The green alien urged Wikus up from the bunk, clicking at him.

“What do you want?” he asked.

His words didn’t translate, but his hesitation must have; the alien paused for a moment before gesturing to all three of them in turn. It pantomimed walking.

Wikus's stomach clenched. They were going to take him somewhere.

“Where?” he demanded, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice.

The alien gestured again, hands forming into incomprehensible shapes.

“I don’t follow,” Wikus said.

It clicked in frustration and fell silent for a moment, thinking. Finally it stooped and picked up its weapon from where it had laid it against the wall, before moving to stand beside him.

Wikus tensed, but the creature didn’t point the weapon at him, instead drawing a slow line back and forth in front of the two of them; a warding gesture.

An offer of protection.

The brown alien made a sharp buzzing click, but the other only looked at Wikus, waiting for his response.

Wikus swallowed hard.

“Alright then,” he said. “Let’s go.”

 

Kkrokpe loped slowly beside the creature, mindful of its injuries and exhaustion, doing his best to ignore Gqunh’s scorching glare.

“You had no business offering protection to it,” Gqunh said. “It may be a danger to the entire Hive.”

“If your suspicions are correct and it is part of a larger fleet,” said Kkrokpe, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone, “then killing it will serve no purpose other than to anger the others.”

“And if it is a spy?” snapped Gqunh.

“Its ship is dead; it has no means to transmit information,” said Kkrokpe. “At the very least, if others come, it might serve as a hostage. Would that satisfy you?”

“That is unfair; I am only trying to be practical. The Leader may still order it destroyed.”

Kkrokpe’s grip tightened on his gun, “I know.”

 

They traveled for a long time, through an endless sea of waving yellow grass that rose almost to Wikus's hip. About a mile from the ship they came across another group of the giant brown pill bugs, grazing. As they skirted the herd, Wikus caught sight of something he’d only ever seen in Ross’s dreamy sketches.

A massive metal creature, twice as tall as the aliens it roughly resembled, rose against the blue sky.

The green alien noticed him staring and clicked at him, pointing. He followed the creature’s arm and saw more of the bugs that had attacked him, slinking through the grass at the edge of the herd.

A giant metal arm came up, and one of the bugs exploded, provoking high pitched shrieks as the others scattered.

The pill bugs continued to feed.

The alien urged them on.

 

The sun was high in the sky when they came to a wide river snaking its way across the plain. Wikus was concerned they might have to ford it, he wasn’t a very strong swimmer, but the aliens only followed the rushing water as it flowed downstream.

On the far bank several large brown lumps were sunning themselves on the sand. As he watched, one stretched luxuriously, twitching modified front legs tipped with massive pincers.

Wikus moved a little closer to the green alien.

As they followed the river, the ground began to gradually slope, opening up into a large canyon. Red rocks loomed on either side, casting long shadows.

The two aliens moved easily over the rough terrain, but Wikus had to scramble, boots slipping on wet stone where the rapids left dark splashes. One leg finally slid from under him and he sprawled on the rocks, cursing.

“Can’t you wait a fokking minute?” he shouted over the roar of the water, trying to get his feet under him.

Green fingers caught his and he was hoisted to his feet. He started to withdraw, muttering brusque thanks, but the alien hung on, arranging its hand into a more comfortable grip. It clicked at him and tugged him along.

Wikus's mind rebelled at the thought of touching the creature, but after nearly slipping several times only to be yanked back easily, a keen example of their massive strength, he submitted in the name of sparing himself any more bruises. The alien’s palm was surprisingly warm and soft, even if the thick, too few fingers sent shivers of wrongness up his spine.

Exhaustion was beginning to catch up to him and he concentrated on finding steady footholds. Just when he thought he would keel over, the alien stopped, clicking at him.

Wikus looked up.

A massive red cliff loomed over them, honeycombed with openings. Bipedal aliens swarmed over the cliff face and small floating ships hovered in the slice of sky visible between the ruddy canyon walls.

He was looking at an alien city.

“How lovely,” breathed Tania. “Wikus, this is incredible.”

Wikus couldn’t speak.


	5. Chapter 5

The climb to the summit of the cliff proved just as arduous as the descent into the canyon and Wikus's new shirt was soaked with sweat by the time they made it to the top. His arm was aching and he wanted nothing more than to collapse on the hard stone and sleep.

Or perhaps toss himself over the edge into the river; he was dying of thirst.

The curious stares of the aliens made his skin prickle. They were everywhere, multicolored shells and many sizes, antennae waving as they watched him.

The green alien must have noticed him falter because it clicked to its companion and guided them off into a cave, gently pushing Wikus to sit in a carved stone nook. The dim light in the dwelling was blinding after the bright sun and Wikus's dropped his head into his hands, fingers pressing on his temples as he fought the pounding headache of dehydration.

A hand touched his head and he looked up. The green alien offered him a shallow metal bowl of liquid.

His vision hadn’t returned enough to tell what it was, but he was too thirsty to care and took a mouthful.

It was water, but with a sharp mineral bite that was shocking after the non-flavor of the filtered water kept on board ship. He gulped it down too quickly and fought his empty stomach’s urge to throw it up.

When he had rested a few minutes, the alien took back the bowl, setting it aside, and pulled him to his feet, back into the sunlight.

A crowd had gathered and the air was filled with soft clicks and trills, like a chorus of crickets. Wikus's stomach knotted up, uncomfortable under the intent gazes.

The alien gently squeezed his hand and he looked up at the creature in surprise. It continued walking as if unaware, but a thick finger ran lightly along the back of his hand, soothing.

Wikus lifted his head and kept on walking.

They passed through an archway, roughly carved with abstract insectoid shapes, and into a central room. Sunlight filtered down through high windows bored in the cliff face. Numerous aliens were milling about; attending to things he couldn’t see.

The green alien let out a buzzing trill. Activity ceased for a moment and another alien stepped forward.

It loomed several inches taller than the others, and its exoskeleton was pure black. Grossly enlarged mandibles, bright red and barbed on the internal faces, twitched as it looked at him.

It gave a sharp click and the green alien released his hand, gently pushing him forward.

The creature stalked forward and bent down to examine him. Mandibles clicked together and he couldn’t suppress a flinch.

It made several clicking sounds and behind him he heard the green alien respond. The brown alien chimed in, buzzing and clicking. The black alien cocked its head, looking at him.

Should he say something?

“Um,” Wikus began; the black alien’s head came up at the sound of his voice. He spread his hands and extended them in what he hoped was a universal gesture of ‘no weapons’, frantically groping for something to say. He’d always scorned the old sci-fi movie actors for their cheesy dialogue, but now, faced with seven foot tall insect people, he suddenly couldn’t think of anything eloquent. “I…come in peace?”

The black alien stared at him.

For a moment Wikus thought he’d made a huge mistake, but then the black alien was moving forward. It placed its hands palm down on top of his and made several authoritative clicks.

There was a buzzing chorus from the other aliens. The black alien stepped back and clicked to the two behind him. The green alien stepped forward and began speaking rapidly, gesturing with its free hand as it clicked. The black alien grunted and made several more clicks.

The green alien made a peculiar gesture and turned back to Wikus, motioning for him to follow.

 

Wikus followed the creature out of the room and they began to descend the cliff, following paths worn smooth by passage of many feet. Several levels down the alien turned off into a large flat area hewn into the rock. The red rock face was pocked with holes.

They must be dwellings, Wikus realized, watching a tall yellow alien emerge from one of the holes. Groups of little aliens were playing in the dust, trilling and clicking as they chased and wrestled with each other.

The green alien entered one of the openings and Wikus hurried after it. The stone walls, lit by sunlight from the doorway, glowed orange.

The green alien gave a chirp and the light scratch of feet on stone answered. A small alien scampered into the room, chirping frantically.

The green alien hung its weapon on a set of metal hooks near the door before reaching down and scooping up the smaller creature. The little alien chirped and trilled and the parent gave a rumbling purr in response, a sound that Wikus, to his embarrassment, recognized as the one the alien had directed at him when they’d first found him.

Awkward, he lingered in the doorway, watching parent and child reacquaint. Not wishing to be surprised by another adult lurking around a corner, he threw a surreptitious glance about, searching for another parent.

A trilling chirp brought his attention back to the pair, and he looked down at the small alien. The creature stood only a little higher than his knee. It chirped at him, tilting its head in an inquisitive manner.

Trying to be polite, he crouched down to put himself on level with the child, offering his hands as he might to a strange dog. Small antennae waved as the child reached out and touched his hands, clicking and trilling as it examined the lines of dirt in his palm, small pointed fingers lightly scratching against his skin. Wikus tried not to squirm at the tickling sensation.

The green alien clicked several times and the child withdrew. The alien motioned to a metal table set with several stools. Wikus sank gratefully into one and the child scrambled to sit next to him, crawling up onto a stool which stood nearly as high as it was.

The alien disappeared for a moment through another doorway and returned carrying a stack of three bowls. It set one each in front of Wikus and the child, who chirped and started eating. Wikus steeled himself and looked into his own bowl.

More raw meat.

An inquisitive click from the green alien made him look up. It gestured toward the bowl and clicked again. Wikus bit back a groan.

“Look,” he said “I really don’t want to be rude, but don’t you have any way of cooking this?”

The alien cocked its head and looked puzzled.

“Cook? You know, fire?” Wikus waved his hands in a fruitless attempt to illustrate his point. The alien only stared at him. Frustrated, he rolled up his sleeve, reached over, took one of its hands and laid it on his bare arm, “Heat. Understand?”

The alien thought for a moment and rose from the table. It returned a few moments later carrying a squat metal box with dials on the front. It placed the box on the floor near Wikus and fiddled with some of the dials. After a minute or so it began radiating heat.

Not exactly what he’d had in mind, but beggars can’t be choosers. Wikus placed the bowl on top of the box and crouched near it, waiting as the metal slowly conducted the heat. Eventually the it began to sizzle and the somehow primal, delicious scent of cooking meat filled the room. Both aliens crouched beside him to watch.

Lacking utensils, Wikus burnt his fingers a few times as he tried to turn the meat. At last it was done, a little rarer than he usually liked, but at least it appeared edible. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and scooped the bowl up, transferring it quickly to the table. The green alien watched him blow on the meat to cool it. Politely, he tore off a small piece and offered it.

The alien accepted the meat and turned it over for a moment before sticking it in its mouth.

It paused, considering, before leaning over and spitting it back out into the child’s empty bowl.

“Now you know how I felt,” Wikus mumbled, biting into his meal.

The alien just clicked at him before returning to its bowl.

 

It was growing dark by the time they finished and though the first real meal he’d had in over a week had revived Wikus, he still found himself dropping off at the table. He would have gladly slept right there, but his host urged him up, pulling him into one of the back rooms.

The room was dim, lit only by the pale blue light of a lamp on the wall. He was gently pushed down into a shallow depression in the floor. Stretching out, he found it was lined with something soft and padded.

His host retreated and Wikus was almost asleep when both aliens dropped in beside him, curling into the bed.

Startled awake, Wikus yelped in alarm. “What the fok are you doing?”

Two sets of eyes stared at him in puzzlement. The child chirped and snuggled into its parent’s side. The alien gave what might have been a concerned click.

Embarrassed, Wikus turned over, mumbling apologies. Of course, this was their bed.

“Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows,” quoted Thomas, snickering.

The creature doused the light and Wikus lay rigid in the dark. The depression wasn’t quite large enough to avoid touching the larger alien, but the creature did radiate quite a bit of warmth. Wikus tried to relax, listening to the sound of air passing over gills, so different from Tania’s soft breathing.

His chest ached at the thought of his wife and he squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the hysterical sob that wanted to tear out of him. He drew several shaky breaths through his nose, pushing away the pain until it subsided into a dull mutinous throb beneath his ribs.

A low purr rose out of the darkness, just barely in the range of his hearing. It dipped and rose, moving in a way that was almost musical, eerie and calming at once.

An alien lullaby.

Wikus slept.

 

A tickling sensation against his chin woke him and he raised his head, blinking bleary eyes. Sometime during the night he’d rolled onto his back and the child had crawled on top of him. The small alien was curled up on the expanse of his chest, antennae twitching in sleep, the pointed appendages brushing against his skin.

Wikus squirmed, trying to move the little alien, but instinctively froze as the larger creature beside him shifted, letting out a deep breath before settling. He lay still for a few moments, but when the alien didn’t move again he slid his hands under the child and eased it off his chest.

It was heavier than he anticipated and it made a small sound of protest as he shifted it next to the larger alien. The dichotomy between the sleepy coo, so like an infant’s, and the hard exoskeleton beneath his fingers was eerie.

Wikus crept from the room and out of the dwelling. The morning air was chill and the lack of aliens about gave the cliff shelf the appearance of a ghost town. Sunlight was just beginning to crawl up the canyon walls, turning them ruddy.

Drawn to the edge of the cliff, Wikus stared down into the ravine. Mist rose from the rushing river, the sound of tumbling water echoing off the walls of the canyon.

A chirp startled him. An orange alien stood near him. The creature gave a curious trill and cocked its head to one side, staring at him.

Uncomfortable, Wikus started to edge away from the cliff, “What do you want?”

Antennae stood up straight at his voice. The alien made several rapid clicks and stepped closer, hands outstretched.

Wikus winced as he was grabbed by the shoulders, “Now just a fokking minute—”

The creature paid him no mind, shoving his head down so it could examine his hair, mandibles combing through it. The strange sensation sent a spider crawl tingle across his skin.

“What the fok are you doing?” Wikus yelped. “Let go!”

The alien ignored him and in a fit of panic Wikus dropped to the ground. The sudden wrench of weight startled it and he twisted free, scooting back a few feet.

The alien looked at him in surprise before stepping forward once more, reaching.

Wikus's eyes widened. “Oh, fok, no.”

The alien leaped after him, clicking.

 

Kkrokpe stood in the doorway and watched Jwarrah harass the creature, the two of them dodging and grasping in a strange dance.

“Leave it to you to bring home a stray,” clicked Xezibeh in amusement, leaning against his own lintel.

“It is no trouble,” Kkrokpe said. “It had nowhere to go, and I have plenty of room, now.”

Xezibeh’s yellow antennae drooped. “True,” he said. “A new project will be good. I have been worried for you, after Cirrah.”

Kkrokpe let out a slow breath. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”

“Even so.”

“Perhaps after some time, if it proves safe and trustworthy, it can look after Dayii for me,” said Kkrokpe.

“You’d leave your hatchling with it?” Xezibeh’s clicks were colored with surprise.

“Not right away,” said Kkrokpe. “But I don’t think it’s malicious, just lost and lonely. It must be far from home.”

“Let’s hope your trust is not misplaced,” Xezibeh clicked.

Kkrokpe hurried forward to rescue the creature from Jwarrah, who had cornered it by the outcropping of rocks where the smaller hatchlings played, and did not reply.

 

“I need to go back to the ship,” Wikus said loudly, as though more volume might break the language barrier and convey his meaning. “My ship, flying hunk of wreckage, yeah? Understand?”

The alien gave an annoyed click.

Wikus threw up his hands and beckoned the creature to the door. Crouching in the dust, he sketched a crude representation of the canyon, complete with a squiggle of river and an outline of the shuttle. Finally he drew a line between the two pictures.

The alien stared at the drawing for several moments before extending a hand. Quick movements and a horizon stretched out beneath pointed fingers, a stylized sun added at two points. The alien indicated first one and then the other.

Wait.

Wikus was already antsy, torn between eagerness and reluctance to return, and the command to delay brought his hackles up, but he remembered the strange creatures near the river and on the plains and knew he wouldn’t survive the trip on his own.

“Fine,” he said, “but if those fokking bugs have nested in the ship, I blame you.


	6. Chapter 6

The slender predators hadn’t entered the ship and the graves, which Wikus checked first, were undisturbed. Maybe they’d been drawn to the disturbance and didn’t feed on carrion, he thought, flinching as he referred to his wife and crewmates as such.

Onboard, habit drew him to the radio. He sat and fiddled with the dials as the alien prowled the ship, clicking to itself.

The way his luck was running he was sure the radio wouldn’t work and it was a shock when it sparked to life, hissing and crackling. Glowing letters flashed across the tiny screen.

_Input Message?_

Wikus stared at it, suddenly at a loss.

_Input Message?_

Wikus grasped the tiny microphone and took a deep breath.

“This is Starship Designation #77296, Communications Officer Wikus van de Merwe speaking.” Wikus paused for a moment. “To Command Central, if anyone receives this message, there has been—”

“A fucking catastrophe,” supplied James.

“An accident,” continued Wikus. “All other members of the crew have…”

“Checked out,” said Clive.

“Kicked the bucket,” added Thomas.

“Cashed in all our chips,” said Ross.

“Shut the fok up!” howled Wikus.

Static hissed from the radio.

Wikus stared at the microphone.

Another message flashed across the screen.

_Emergency Power Failure._

Panic gripped him, “Wait, wait a fokking second!”

_Emergency Power Failure._

“No, fokking useless piece of junk, don’t you dare—!”

_Shutdown in 5, 4…_

“Bliksem!”

_2, 1…_

Wikus slammed his hands into the control panel.

The screen blacked out.

He stared at the radio for a few moments before rising, his movements stiff and mechanical. He passed the creature, no doubt drawn by the shouting, as he made his way to the cabins. It gave an inquisitive chirp.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Not a fokking thing.”

 

Wikus concentrated on gathering supplies to distract from the shriek that wanted to claw its way out of him. Les’s room produced two fair sized knapsacks, which he began to fill. The med bay yielded bandages and medicine, and Ross’s room miscellaneous electronic devices. Beneath James’s bed he found a handgun case and a few clips of ammunition.

He looked at it for a long time before tucking it into the sack.

At last he steeled himself and went to the room he had shared with Tania.

His spare sets of clothes fit easily, leaving enough room for his shaving kit and a few bars of soap. He wasn’t sure if the aliens bathed at all, but Wikus was beginning to feel the skin crawling discomfort of spending several days in the same clothing. He was scooping personal items off the top of the small shelf at the side of the bed when something fell with a metallic clunk and rolled across the floor.

Curious, he put the knapsack down and knelt, reaching for it, holding it up in the dim light for a better look.

It was a small metal figurine, a man, hunched under the weight of a child. Tania’s mother had given it to them just after their marriage, for protection, she said, to keep you safe in the vast emptiness of space. Wikus had called it Catholic superstition, but Tania just laughed and said they’d always keep it near.

St. Christopher.

Wikus couldn’t breathe; a great animal was suddenly clawing its way up his throat. He clapped his free hand over his mouth and rocked forward. His hand ached where it had clasped tight around the figurine. His eyes burned.

An anguished cry finally ripped its way out, like vomiting up something spiked. He curled in on himself, keening like a wounded thing.

“Tania, Tania, Tania,” he sobbed.

He was dimly aware of hands on him, stroking his head, and a low rumbling purr, undercut by his heaving breaths as his body tried to decide whether it wanted to purge all his internal organs.

Wikus cried for a long time, until his head ached and his eyes were dry and gummy. The hands remained and the purr never wavered.

Exhausted, he lay on the floor of the ship and looked up at the alien.

One hand continued to stroke his head, but the other reached down and felt the wet mess of his face, fingers sliding through the tear tracks.

“You don’t cry then?” Wikus rasped, his voice almost gone.

The alien gave an anxious click.

“I’m alright,” he mumbled, rolling himself back up. “Actually that’s wrong; I’m not alright, I don’t know if I’ll ever be alright,” his voice rose to a hysterical pitch.

The alien looked at him.

Wikus wiped his nose on his sleeve without thinking, and glanced in revulsion at the slick smear of mucus on the gray fabric.

“Need to change,” he said, his voice slightly stronger, grasping at a strand of normalcy.

The alien sat on the floor and watched as he peeled out of his shirt and rummaged in the drawers under the bed for a clean one. The fabric was cool against his sweaty skin.

“You know,” he said. “I don’t even know your name.”

The alien did not reply and when he glanced back it was still sitting, head cocked as it listened to his voice without comprehension.

Sighing, Wikus pointed at himself. “Wikus,” he said, and pointed at the alien.

The creature perked up. It pointed at itself and made a sound like a cricket trying to gargle stones.

Wikus stared.

“Me Tarzan, you Worf,” snickered Ross.

“There’s no way I can fokking pronounce that,” said Wikus, shaking his head. He scooped up the knapsack and set it on the bed, reaching down and retrieving the statue where he’d dropped it. He paused for a moment, looking at it, and glanced over at the alien. “Can I call you Christopher?”

The creature gave a confused click.

Stepping over to the alien, Wikus pointed to himself. “Wikus,” he repeated, and indicated the alien, “Christopher.”

The alien was silent for a few moments before making a noise he’d come to associate with agreement. It then pointed at him and made two sharp clicks, pitched high and low.

Wikus.

“Fair enough,” Wikus said. “Now help me get this stuff out of here,”

Christopher let out a buzzing click.


	7. Chapter 7

Christopher wouldn’t let them leave until he’d taken Wikus back to the med bay and changed the bandages on his arm. Wikus hadn’t thought of his injury much, but the tender, puffy skin that was revealed when they unwound the bloody bandages had him reaching for a spare bottle of disinfectant.

Finally Christopher scavenged a bottle of water from a cabinet and pushed it at him, clicking insistently.

“Fine, got it,” grumbled Wikus, before gulping down a few swallows. He really was quite thirsty.

He was about to replace the lid when his manners caught up with him. He offered the bottle to Christopher.

The alien gave a surprised click and looked at him.

“Go on, then,” said Wikus, pushing the bottle towards him. “Afraid of catching something?”

After a moment, the alien took the bottle, his movements oddly formal. Tentacles split around the neck and Christopher drained the rest of the water before setting the bottle aside.

With Wikus patched up, they each took a knapsack and set off across the plains.

Startled by their passage, brown creatures larger than the bugs that had attacked him leapt through the grass on slender, spiked legs. Christopher stopped, considering them.

“What is it?” said Wikus, hiking his knapsack higher on his back.

Christopher pointed at the creatures and made a series of clicks. Then he pointed at a gnarled tree nearby and made a buzzing trill.

“What about the tree and the bugs?”

Christopher gave a frustrated click and pointed at the tree again, repeating the buzzing trill.

Wikus's eyes widened. Hand shaking slightly, he pointed at the tree. “Tree,” he said, looking at the alien for confirmation.

Christopher pointed at the grass and made a click-chirp.

Catching on, Wikus repeated the word in his own language, “Grass.”

The alien indicated his weapon.

“Gun,” Wikus shook his head. “You’re fokking brilliant.”

Christopher made the sharp double click of his name.

“Alright then, I’m listening, yeah? Just speak slowly; all your words sound the same.”

 

Language lessons were slow and frustrating. Simple nouns were easy to pick up and the grammar structure of their speech seemed to mesh, but complex ideas still confused them both. It made talking to Christopher a bit like speaking over a two-way radio inundated with static.

“Wikus, I have to _ekfjieh heihws wheiouj_. Can you stay with my son?”

The kid, whose name Wikus could barely approximate as “De-yee”, was actually much easier to communicate with.

“We play now?” clicked Dayii.

“Sure,” said Wikus. “Playing is good.”

For Dayii, playing involved joining the large group of little aliens on the cliff shelf. They were all fascinated by the strange adult with no exoskeleton and rapidly crowded around Wikus, chirping as they pulled on his clothing and poked him, a forest of short antennae waving in excitement.

One youngster with a brown shell stepped forward and offered him something clasped between small clawed hands. It was another bug, tiny and covered with red fuzz. Four flat black eyes, scattered like beads above two iridescent blue chelicerae, stared up at him.

The little alien pushed the creature towards him.

Gingerly, expecting a bite, Wikus ran a single finger down its back. The fuzz was soft and the creature pushed up on eight legs, arching into the touch.

It was actually kind of…cute.

Then it leapt onto his hand and his shout, _shout_ damn it not shriek, frightened the little aliens.

 

Xezibeh caught Kkrokpe coming back from the upper levels of the compound.

“So the waiting period before you leave your hatchling with it got scrapped?” Xezibeh clicked, indicating the play area, where the creature was being mobbed by the tiny hatchlings.

Kkrokpe had the decency to look embarrassed. “Wikus did something I didn’t expect.”

“What?”

“He offered to share water with me.”

Xezibeh gave a surprised click, “And you accepted?”

“I did.”

Xezibeh shook his head, “It is one thing to accept a kinship bond with someone outside the Hive, but this creature isn’t even one of us.”

“I realize that.”

“I wonder if you do. We know nothing of its culture. To make that kind of pact when you have no idea whether it would be reciprocated is dangerous.”

“I would suspect that sharing a drink implies a certain level of goodwill, regardless of one’s origin,” replied Kkrokpe testily.

“I hope so, my friend.”

 

What was rapidly becoming the most critical word in any language was _bath_ , Wikus thought, grimacing as he ran his fingers through his hair, combing lank and greasy strands into a semblance of order.

He’d discovered the latrine the aliens used, which in turn led to an awkward situation as several curious adults followed him. It hadn’t helped that they’d hung around in spite of his attempts to shoo them off, pointing and commenting in words he didn’t understand. The latrine wasn’t connected to any sort of washing area though, so he was left going to Christopher for help.

“Is there anyplace I can wash up?” he said.

“Can what?” clicked Christopher.

“You know, wash? Bathe?” Wikus took a bowl of water and demonstrated, scooping up a few drops and rubbing them on his skin.

Christopher gave a click of comprehension and repeated the word. “I see what you mean. Yes.”

“Oh, good.”

“We can go there together.”

“What?” Wikus spluttered, but Christopher was already heading for the door, calling for Dayii. He followed the alien as he went to the back room to gather bathing supplies.

“Can’t you just tell me where it is?”

“Why?” Christopher seemed surprised.

Wikus hesitated, trying to think of how to explain hundreds of years of human body modesty to a creature that didn’t even wear clothes, “Because…because…”

Christopher cocked his head to the side and waited.

“Never mind,” said Wikus, his face red, and turned to gather his knapsack. “Let’s go.”

 

The bathing area was located several levels down from the living quarters, and consisted of a series of cascading pools hollowed out of the rock. Aliens were everywhere, splashing in the water, clicking to each other.

Christopher chose a pool near where the source water trickled down, already occupied by two tan adults. He stepped down into the pool; a rough yellow chunk of their “soap” clasped in one hand and reached for Dayii, who hopped into his father’s arms.

Wikus set his knapsack down by the pool and dipped a hand in. The water was surprisingly warm and he scooped up a handful, allowing it to trickle through his fingers, before setting out his bar of soap and small shaving kit.

He didn’t look at the aliens as he stripped off his shirt and peeled out of his pants, folding them carefully and tucking them into the knapsack alongside the clean clothes. He was going to have to find some way to wash them.

He was stalling and he knew it. Wikus hesitated over his underwear; he could bathe with them on, but they were filthy, grey with dirt.

He yanked them off before he could lose his nerve and scrambled into the water.

It was deep, rising almost to his chest. Goosebumps rose all over his skin, every hair standing on end and he shuddered despite the warmth of the water, reaching for the soap.

The slick foam felt wonderful, washing away the grime and harsh musky sweat left behind by fear and sorrow. Wikus dipped his head beneath the water and scrubbed his hair, pushing the wet strands back out of his eyes.

One of the tan aliens clicked to the other, pointing at him.

Wikus scowled, “Why the fok do they keep doing that?” he demanded.

Christopher shifted Dayii to his other arm, allowing the soap to float on the water for a moment and glanced at Wikus, “You have an external _hwjeoeoi_.”

“A what?”

Christopher cocked his head, thinking. “Organ for making children?” he hazarded.

Wikus's eyes bulged. “What? They’ve never seen a…” his eyes darted to Christopher’s belly; half submerged in the water, and jerked away.

“Inside,” clicked Christopher mildly.

“Then how do you tell the difference between males and females?” Wikus was dumbstruck, “Is it smell?”

Christopher gave a confused click. “What do you mean?”

Wikus tried to think of a way to explain. “The difference between those who can have children, and those who can’t?”

“We all can have children,” clicked Christopher, dipping up water in one hand to rinse the yellow foam off of Dayii.

“You mean you gave…birth to him?” Wikus said, gesturing at the little alien.

Christopher made a sound of agreement, “My _skheihhe_ and I decided that I would carry the first hatchling.”

“Your what?”

Antennae waved and twisted. “Partner? Other parent?”

“Mate,” muttered Wikus, since “wife” would hardly be appropriate.

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

Christopher paused, “Dead.”

“Sorry.”

“It was some time ago.”

Beating off the sense of guilt at uncovering this bit of information, Wikus held up his hand. His wedding band flashed in the sunlight. “My wife, my mate, was on the ship.”

“My sympathies.”

“Thanks,” uncomfortable, Wikus ran his hand across his chin. Ragged stubble rasped against his palm. He reached for his shaving kit and began to lather his face before doing his best to shave in the tiny compact mirror. He covered his cheeks and throat, but left the mustache beginning to form on his upper lip.

“What are you doing?” Christopher’s clicks were colored with curiosity.

“Shaving, taking the hair off my face,” Wikus pulled the skin of his chin taut and ran the razor over it. He put the mirror down for a minute and tugged on the damp strands of his hair, “Men, those who can’t have children, sometimes grow this on their faces.”

“Strange.”

“So says the hermaphroditic cricket.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

 

“I’m not going to leave you alone about this,” snapped Phyllis.

“I fokking know, okay?” said Wikus.

“Eating nothing but meat, day in and day out,” she said. “You’ll get scurvy in no time.”

“They don’t eat anything else.”

“But you do.”

“Fine, damn it.”

“I need to go out to the plains,” he said to Christopher.

“Do you need to return to your ship?”

“No, but I need to find something to eat.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not exactly,” Wikus sighed. “But I have to find something besides meat. I’ll get sick otherwise.”

Christopher made a sound of acknowledgement and apology. “I understand. I did not think that you might have different needs. We can go today.”

Wikus returned to the bedroom to empty one of the knapsacks while Christopher stepped out to tell his yellow-shelled neighbor that he was leaving Dayii alone for a while. Wikus stacked the clothing and items in a neat pile in the corner. He left Tania’s journal in the sack; it might prove helpful in trying to determine which plants wouldn’t kill him.

The gun case was at the bottom of the sack and he looked at it for a few moments, contemplating, before clicking the latches open.

James had kept his weapon in good condition; dark metal gleamed in the blue light of the lamp. Wikus hefted the gun in one hand and reached for a magazine, sliding it in. He checked the safety and tucked the weapon into the waistband of his pants.

With the mostly empty knapsack slung over one shoulder, he hurried out to meet Christopher.

 

Out on the plains, Wikus made for a small grove of trees. Peering up into the branches, he could just make out small yellow ovals scattered among the twigs.

Sliding the knapsack’s strap over his other shoulder to leave his hands free, he grasped the trunk and began to scale it.

He hadn’t climbed trees since he was a boy and it showed. Wikus puffed and scrambled, wishing that he’d taken his boots off as he inched up. At last he made it to a branch fork he was reasonably certain would hold his weight, wedged there and tried to catch his breath.

Christopher made a wondering click. “I didn’t know your species could climb trees.”

Wikus wiped sweat off his brow. “Our ancestors used to live in the trees.”

“It must have been a very long time ago.”

“Smartass.”

“I haven’t heard that one before, but your tone says you’re insulting me.”

Wikus didn’t deign to reply and reached over to pluck one of the yellow fruits hanging just above his head. Turning it over in his hands he noted that half of it had been eaten out, exposing moist yellow flesh and a dark stone.

“A good sign,” murmured Tania. “Something is eating these.”

Wikus scooped out a small bit of flesh with one finger and stuck it on his tongue, like he’d seen his wife do. The flavor was unfamiliar, but pungent and sweet. He held it in his mouth and waited.

“No burning or foul taste,” she said. “It’s likely these are spread by animals.”

Wikus swallowed the bit of fruit and reached for another, filling the knapsack with as many as he could reach.

Christopher was no longer beneath the tree when he made his way down.

“Over here,” the alien clicked, gesturing to a low bush specked with dark berries. Wikus picked one and popped into his mouth. It burst on his tongue, sour and sharp, but with a sweet undertone. Small seeds crunched between his teeth.

“Is it good?” clicked Christopher, head cocked as he regarded the human curiously.

Wikus absently held up a berry, reaching for another and gulping it down.

Slick tentacles slid between his fingers, pulling the fruit away with care. Wikus jerked in surprise, staring at the alien.

Christopher swallowed the berry and made a noise of contemplation. “Interesting.”

Wikus's eyes rounded. “What the fok was that?”

Christopher looked at him and made an inquisitive chirp.

Wikus felt his face heat up.

“Incredible,” clicked Christopher, leaning down to examine him “I’ve observed this change in pigmentation before. What does it mean?”

“Never you mind what it means,” said Wikus, turning back to the berry bush.

_It means I’m losing my fokking mind._


	8. Chapter 8

The berries were far too fragile to transport in the knapsack, but Wikus discovered some small red fruits, slightly larger than cherries and added them to his collection. He had far more than he could eat before they would spoil, but perhaps he could dry some of them.

He was contemplating the logistics of doing so when Christopher gave a sharp click, putting his arm out to stop Wikus.

“What’s wrong?” Wikus said.

“Something’s here,” Christopher clicked, shifting in front of him, antennae waving.

Wikus scanned the area, but couldn’t see anything in the tall grass.

A low rumble split the air.

Wikus froze.

Christopher lifted his weapon.

A chorus of growls rose around them.

They were larger than the small bugs, slinking forward on four bent legs. Forelegs, curved and lined with wicked spines, were carried close to the thorax. Large black mandibles snapped.

Wikus turned slowly, easing closer to Christopher until they were back to back, reaching for his gun and mentally counting.

Four.

His thumb slid to the safety, clicking it off.

One of the creatures growled and leapt.

 

Kkrokpe watched the Rhoye circle them, cursing his inattention. Bad enough to be cornered on the open plain, but he had another to protect.

He could feel Wikus pressing against his back, but with four Rhoye he couldn’t pay overmuch attention to his charge. He only hoped Wikus would be able to stay out of reach long enough for him to take care of them all.

The Rhoye on his left lunged and he swung his weapon. Crackling energy lashed out, cutting the creature in two and he turned to the one charging on his right.

Behind him he heard an unfamiliar crack and the shriek of a Rhoye in pain. His shot clipped the creature, blasting off a mandible, but didn’t halt its attack. Forelegs whipped out, hooking around Kkrokpe’s weapon and dragging him close, nearly ripping it from his hands. He ducked beneath the swipe of the remaining mandible, forced the point of his weapon against the creature, and pulled the trigger.

The wide, wriggling body exploded in a shower of red, but the forelegs remained hooked around his gun.

As he tried to pull it free a heavy weight slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Mandibles snapped above his head, nearly catching his antennae. He struggled, clinging to his weapon and tried to turn. Barbed forelegs gripped him, cutting into his exoskeleton.

A deafening bang sounded nearby and a fine mist of blood sprayed across the back of his head. The Rhoye collapsed on top of him.

Wriggling under the body, he pulled himself from beneath the creature and looked for his charge.

Wikus was standing nearby, a small black device clasped in his hands. His eyes were wide, fixed on the dead Rhoye.

“Wikus?” clicked Kkrokpe.

Eyes jerked in his direction and the device followed. Kkrokpe froze on instinct, holding up his hands.

“Wikus?” Kkrokpe watched the human, trying to anticipate whether he could dodge out of the way. “Are you alright?”

Wikus shuddered slightly and lowered the device. “Fine,” he rasped. “I’m not hurt. Though…” he trailed off, looking at the bleeding slashes on Kkrokpe’s shoulders.

“They will heal. Let’s return,” Kkrokpe reached out, wanting to make contact before he retrieved his weapon, to reassure.

Wikus let him lay his hands on his shoulders, still gripping the device in one hand. “Wikus,” he said. “Thank you; you saved my life.”

Blue eyes, he’d never before seen eyes that color, met his. Fingers moved, there was small click and Wikus tucked the weapon away.

 

Despite Christopher’s insistence that his wounds were not serious, Wikus refused to take no for an answer and bullied the alien into sitting at the table while he fetched medical supplies from his knapsack.

Dayii hovered nearby, trilling with worry.

He didn’t dare offer Christopher any medication, but he dampened a clean pad with disinfectant and wiped out the cuts, delving inside where green exoskeleton had split to reveal red muscle. Christopher didn’t make a sound, but Wikus could feel his slight shivers of pain through the gauze.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, laying what he hoped was a comforting hand on the alien’s back. The shell was hard under his fingers.

“No matter,” Christopher clicked.

His injuries tended to, Christopher retrieved food for himself and his son. Wikus was far too tired to think of cooking anything and ate a few pieces of fruit from his knapsack, miraculously undamaged in the attack.

Bellies full, they bedded down for the night, but Wikus was antsy. He lay in the dark, unable to sleep, for what felt like hours, before getting up.

“Wikus?” Christopher clicked.

“It’s nothing; I just need some time to myself. I’m going to go take a bath,” Wikus said, “Go back to sleep.”

“Be careful.”

 

Of the three visible moons, only one was full and the path to the bathing area was barely illuminated. Wikus stubbed his toes several times trying to find his way and nearly tripped into one of the pools.

Stripping down, he slid into the warm water, letting himself slip beneath the surface for a moment. Surfacing, he pushed his hair back and floated, trying to relax.

Adrenaline had left him jumpy and irritable, but had another effect.

_Fokking brilliant time for my libido to return._

Between the weakness from the virus and the grief over his wife, sex was the last thing on his mind, but his brush with death had his body wound tighter than a spring.

Groaning, he surrendered and drifted into a vertical position, leaning against the stone and wrapping a hand around himself.

He pumped, hoping to finish quickly, but the coil of frustration just built in his belly.

Sighing, he shut his eyes, thought of Tania.

He tried to picture her as he’d seen her in their bed, gold hair spread across the pillow, arching in pleasure under him.

Grey mouth slack, blood trickling from the corner.

He gasped, eyes snapping open, dissipating the image. He shivered, suddenly cold despite the warm water.

His erection hadn’t gone down.

“Fok,” his voice cracked.

He shuddered, but continued, trying to keep his mind as blank as possible.

His climax, when it came, was a relief but not a pleasure.

 

Kkrokpe sat in the shadows above the bathing pools. He understood Wikus's desire for space, but the pools were dangerous at night. There was no sign of the small creeping things which haunted the water, but that could change rapidly.

He leaned against a rock and watched Wikus. He hadn’t realized what the human was doing at first, but even when he did, curiosity kept him where he was. Wikus was performing a pleasurable activity, but he seemed uncomfortable and upset by his arousal.

Below him, Wikus gave a short, harsh cry, stuffing his hand into his mouth to stifle it. His back arched and Kkrokpe had the strange almost tender thought that at that moment he didn’t look so different from Cirrah at the peak of pleasure.

He stood and watched the human dress before returning to his home.

 

Wet hair and damp clothing left Wikus chilled and shivering by the time he made it back to Christopher’s home. He felt his way through the dark room into the back.

“Wikus?” Christopher clicked.

“Sorry to wake you.”

“It is alright,” he heard the alien shift. Dayii let out a sleepy chirp. “Come lie down.”

Wikus knelt and crawled into the depression. He settled back and tried not to shudder with cold.

A hand touched him in the dark. He started and a low soothing purr sounded in response.

“You’re wet.”

“Sorry.”

Christopher gave a noncommittal click. “Come here.”

“I…”

“Hush,” Christopher shifted closer, pressing along his side. His exoskeleton was hard against Wikus, poking him in places, but the heat of his body was comforting. His shivers eased.

“Sleep, Wikus.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The above piece of fanart was created by one of the lovely anons from the /coq/ boards where Stranger was originally posted. I was hoping not to attach it to the story without the original artist’s permission, but unfortunately they attached no username and the boards are long gone. I’ve tried reverse image searches, digging through DeviantArt, even a plea for help on Tumblr, but so far no luck. SO, I am going ahead and posting this, with the emphatic statement that I DID NOT CREATE IT. If the original artist would like to claim it, or if any readers recognize the art or style, I'd be most appreciative it I could get in touch and give proper credit. You can contact me either here or at [my Tumblr](http://lyresnake.tumblr.com/) (askbox is open).


	9. Chapter 9

When Kkrokpe emerged from his home the next morning, he found Nkkozee waiting for him, black exoskeleton gleaming in the pale light.

Kkrokpe made a gesture of greeting and respect. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Nkkozee glanced at the cuts marked along his shoulders. “I heard that you and the creature encountered a group of Rhoye.”

“I reported that.”

“And I sent some soldiers to retrieve what could be used. They provided some very interesting information.” Nkkozee’s eyes locked with his, pinning him in place. “Of the four Rhoye found, two were killed by our weapons. Two were not.”

“I did not realize Wikus was armed.”

“What kind of weapon was it?”

“I didn’t get a very good look, but it appeared to fire some kind of small projectile.”

“One of these, perhaps?” Nkkozee produced a deformed metal ball and held it up. “The soldiers cut this out of the Rhoye. It pierced the cranial cavity. A crude weapon, but effective.” Red mandibles clicked together. “Is the creature a danger to our people?”

“I do not think so. He saved my life. I would not endanger my hatchling by bringing a threat into our home.”

Nkkozee made a sound of acknowledgement. “I trust your judgment, but take care. Learn from it, befriend it, but do not lose perspective. My responsibility is to all the members of the Hive; I will not permit a threat to exist among us.”

“I understand.”

“We will be playing host to the Nucthab Hive in a few days. I don’t want an incident,” Nkkozee said. “Will you look for a mate?”

“Not this year, I think.”

“It has been over six revolutions since Cirrah’s death. It must be difficult caring for your hatchling alone.”

“I manage, and Wikus is helping.”

“Even so,” Nkkozee clicked thoughtfully. “I spoke with Nucthu several days ago. He mentioned Tsehzi among the soldiers he is bringing.”

“I see.”

“Whether you want to take another mate is your prerogative, but Tsehzi may not be willing to wait an additional year,” Nkkozee glanced at the sun. “I need to return. Please think on what I have said.”

Kkrokpe clicked in agreement and made a gesture of farewell.

“I am proud to call you a part of my Hive, Kkrokpe. Don’t let your responsibility for the creature prevent you from living your life.”

 

The aliens were up to something.

Wikus sat at the table, slicing fruit into chunks which would dry and watched them through the open door. The creatures scampered about, carrying metal tables and stools, clicking to each other too rapidly for him to follow.

“Do you know what’s going on?” he asked Dayii, who was playing under the table with a set of light metal blocks.

The little alien looked at the door and made a sound Wikus couldn’t interpret.

“What?”

Dayii thought hard. “Others come. Eat together and talk all night.”

“A celebration?”

Dayii clicked in agreement.

As Wikus watched, the aliens piled together a heap of scraps and doused it with buckets of black fluid. A breeze curled through the canyon and brought a foul stench to his nose. He turned aside, coughing.

“What the fok is that?” he wheezed.

“Fire.” clicked Dayii.

Wikus struggled to pull his shirt over his nose. “Christ, let’s get out of here, kid.”

Dayii gave an excited chirp and put his blocks aside.

Wikus covered the bowl of fruit with one of his spare shirts and went to gather his dirty clothes. Dodging aliens, they hurried down to the bathing pools.

Wikus laid out his clothing on the stone where source water trickled through a shallow trough into the pool below. Lacking any detergent, he dunked his clothes into the water and rubbed them against the sandy stone, as he’d sometimes seen the local women do when he was a boy.

Dayii played nearby, clicking happily as he splashed in the shallow water.

Wikus was wringing out a shirt when a spray of water caught him on the side of the head.

Wiping his face, he scowled at Dayii. “Fok, kid, what the hell?”

“Play?” Dayii chirped. Tiny antennae waved as he looked at Wikus hopefully.

_That kid is way too cute for his own good._

Wikus turned back to his laundry. “Not now, kid, I’m busy.”

Dayii drooped but went back to his activities.

Several moments later a splash of water contacted the back of the little alien’s head. He whirled, chirping in surprise.

Wikus continued to scrub, trying to hide the tiny smile that wanted to emerge.

He knew he’d failed when Dayii tackled him, clicking in playful indignation.

 

It was nearing dark by the time Wikus finally finished his laundry and they headed back, still slightly damp from their water fight. The aliens had lit the giant bonfire, but to Wikus's vast relief, the black fluid didn’t smell as fetid when burned. They skirted the blaze and entered Christopher’s home.

Christopher hadn’t returned yet, so Wikus draped his clothing to dry in various places around the dwelling. The bonfire had raised the temperature in the house; they should dry quickly.

Dayii tugged on his pant leg.

“Hungry,” he clicked.

Wikus sighed and glanced at the door, hoping Christopher might magically appear, but to no avail. “Alright, kid, give me a minute.”

Exploration of the prominent metal box in the back room produced several lumps of red meat, some with bits of exoskeleton still attached. Wikus shuddered as he dropped the chunks into a couple of metal bowls and offered one to the youngster. As Dayii dug in, Wikus dragged the heater into the main room and began the slow process of cooking his own food.

Hunger made him impatient and he ate it while it was probably a bit pinker than was healthy. He cleaned up while Dayii played with his blocks and by the time he had finished the little alien was wilting with exhaustion.

Christopher still had not returned.

Reaching down, he scooped the dozing alien off the floor and carried him to bed. Dayii snuggled into his shoulder, mandibles brushing against his neck. Wikus twitched at the sensation.

Settling the child down for the night, Wikus returned to his bowl of fruit and finished slicing, laying out the pieces between the layers of his shirt on the table when he was done. Wiping off his knife, he glowered at the empty door.

Where the fok was Christopher?

“Getting pretty domestic, aren’t you?” mocked Les.

Wikus slammed his knife down on the table and stalked off to bed.

Dayii didn’t wake when he crawled in next to him. Wikus doused the light and lay in the darkness, eyes stubbornly shut as he tried to sleep.

Giving up, he rose and returned to the main room. Taking a piece of fruit not yet sliced, he munched as he watched the aliens gathered around the fire, clicking to each other. Tossing the pit into the waste box near the door, he was about to return to bed when he caught sight of Christopher.

He was standing in the circle of light cast by the blaze, face to face with another alien, a tall creature whose shell glowed red-orange. The red alien held out its hands, offering something small to Christopher. They spoke for a few moments before Christopher reached out to accept the object.

Wikus leaned against the door, his anger draining away. He wanted to hold onto it, but the bizarre sense of relief when he saw the alien who had become his protector overwhelmed the petty rage.

“Fokking bug.” he grumbled, heading back to bed. He was suddenly exhausted.

 

Kkrokpe stared at the small woven box clasped between red clawed hands and clicked in exasperation, “Tsehzi…”

Tsehzi pushed it forward, “Take it.”

“I had hoped you had found a mate. Preferably one your own age,” Kkrokpe said.

“There is no other that I want.”

Kkrokpe shook his head. “Foolish.”

“And you are stubborn. I have spoken to my Leader already; I would come here, there is no need for you to forsake your Hive. What is your objection?”

“I am not looking for a mate at present.”

“I will wait.”

“I have other responsibilities,” Kkrokpe said helplessly.

Tsehzi held up a hand. “Have you taken a mate already?”

“No.”

“Has another whom you would prefer made advances?”

“No.”

Tsehzi clicked in amusement. “Then I will continue to make these, until such time as you may be ready to make one for me.”

Kkrokpe made a sound of frustration.

Tsehzi offered the box again and Kkrokpe accepted it. Tsehzi clicked in approval.

“I need to return home,” said Kkrokpe.

“Of course.”

Kkrokpe hurried back to his house. Talks with the Nucthab had run long and he was already late. His home was dark. He stepped inside, antennae waving as he tasted the familiar presence of his son and the strange musk that came from Wikus, overlaid with the sweet odor of drying fruit on the table.

He slipped into the back room, trying to be quiet.

“Christopher?” Wikus murmured sleepily, shifting.

“Yes, go back to sleep.” Kkrokpe said, crawling into the bed. He reached out, feeling for Dayii and found his son curled against the human’s side. Kkrokpe settled in, flush against Wikus, and was surprised when the human cuddled into the heat of his body.

“You were gone a long time,” Wikus mumbled, nearly incoherent.

“I apologize. It was necessary.”

Wikus made a noise of assent and his breathing evened out in sleep.

Kkrokpe reached out, hesitant, and touched the sleeping human, fingers carding through the strange outgrowths that sprouted all over his head, provoking a sleepy contented sound.

He lay in the dark, thinking.

The Hive had accepted Wikus's presence for the most part, except for a few dissenters who thought it more appropriate to eat the squishy new member, but the fact remained that he was still an outsider and not likely to be leaving soon. Nkkozee was reluctant to provide assistance to a species they knew so little about. Despite Wikus's almost single minded focus on establishing the basics of living he still seemed lost, given to dark moods when not distracted by work or caring for Dayii.

What if he could offer the human a stable position in their home, something more permanent than “guest” or “refugee”?

Perhaps he could never love another after Cirrah, but Wikus was good around the house, and more importantly, Dayii was fond of him.

And it would serve the double purpose of getting Tsehzi off his back.

It would not be easy. Cirrah had pursued him during their courtship and Kkrokpe had little idea of how he might cultivate similar feelings in Wikus. Logic told him that the chances of Wikus considering him as a potential mate were almost nonexistent, but some of the human’s responses toward him indicated that he might be receptive, given time and encouragement.

It would take patience.

Nkkozee might be angry.

Xezibeh might drop dead from shock.

Kkrokpe shut his eyes; he would gather grass tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

A small box sat on the metal stool nearest to the door, the one Wikus used most often.

“What’s this?” he said.

Christopher looked up from the datapad he was reading.

“A gift,” he clicked, before returning to his work.

“Oh,” Wikus said, slightly puzzled. “Thank you.”

Christopher made a sound of acknowledgement and Wikus picked it up.

It appeared innocent enough, sides and lid woven of pale yellow grass, but something about it sparked a mental itch and an overwhelming feeling that a gift was not _all_ it was. Wikus looked back at the alien. Christopher was watching him with an inscrutable look.

Leery, Wikus pulled the lid off.

It was empty.

Mystified, Wikus turned the box over and shook it. No, it was definitely empty.

“There’s nothing in it,” he said, feeling a bit foolish.

Christopher continued staring at him, “Yes.”

“Why?”

Christopher had to think for a few moments. “There never has been.”

Chalking it up to some strange alien custom, Wikus put the box with his belongings in the back.

 

He didn’t think much of it, but then a few days later another appeared, made of grass and empty as the first. Then another showed up. And another.

Wikus made sure to thank Christopher each time, despite being increasingly convinced that the alien was touched in the head. He stacked the boxes in an ever growing pile in the back.

Hoping to distract Christopher from his bizarre box making, Wikus requested that they make a trip to the wreckage of the shuttle. They left in the early morning.

Wikus had not seen the plains at dawn before, the silhouettes of the trees black against the soft orange glow that rose up to meet the purple of the still dark sky. Four of the planet’s moons were visible, just beginning to fade out in the light of the orange star.

There were seven in all, Christopher told him, and myth said they were the original founders of the Hives. He pointed to the one which represented his own, Nkkawle, a small blue object standing out stark against the sky.

Wikus laughed and then had to explain the idea of a “blue moon” to Christopher.

They passed another herd of the pill bugs, which Christopher referred to with a gurgling click impossible for Wikus to replicate. The dew left behind the night before had not yet evaporated and Wikus's pant legs were damp with it by the time they made it to the ship.

The air in the shuttle had grown stale from being sealed shut, but had lost the sour-sweet tinge of sickness and decay. Wikus avoided the radio for now and made for Ross’s room, waving his hand absently at Christopher.

“I’ll be a little bit,” he said. “If you want to poke around. I want to get a few things.”

Christopher clicked in agreement and set off.

Wikus pulled one of Ross’s drawers of junk out from under his berth and dumped it onto the bed. Shining metal fittings and bolts tumbled across the blankets. He sifted through them, removing small squares of sheet metal, copper and steel, and oddly shaped gears, adding them to his knapsack. Back at home he’d had a knack for crafts; maybe he could make a few small toys for Dayii. He scooped a little cold soldering gun from the shelf and tossed it in the sack. He looked around the empty room and turned back to the door.

Wikus took a deep breath. It was time to face the radio. 

 

Kkrokpe prowled through the ship, searching through the rooms, antennae waving as he catalogued scents.

The med bay was a treasure trove of fascinating instruments and Kkrokpe examined the contents of the cabinets, wondering if anything might give him any advice on dealing with his charge.

He was digging through one of the deep desk drawers when he discovered something he recognized among all the strange instruments, a datapad. He pulled it out.

It didn’t much resemble the datapads his kind used to store information. The outside was marked with shiny characters, a couple of which Kkrokpe recognized from markings around the ship. Human letters. He pressed the screen and it flashed to life, revealing an image: two humans draped in loose coverings and locked in an embrace.

Kkrokpe’s antennae stood up. Perhaps it was some kind of human mating manual?

He fiddled with the pad eagerly, attempting to advance through the pages. His efforts to convey a mating proposal to Wikus were not working; the human accepted his gifts and even allowed his casual touch without flinching, but made no reciprocal action.

Pages of incomprehensible human text spread before him. Kkrokpe clicked in frustration, leafing through the pad until at last he came upon another image.

He studied it. Two humans, one draped in long coverings that hid its feet, stood several feet apart, staring at each other. Not helpful.

He skimmed forward until he found another. The same two humans were sitting close together, one holding what appeared to be a datapad. The second human listened intently.

Kkrokpe cocked his head; this might be of some use. Maybe he could take Wikus to where the stories and records were kept. The human seemed to enjoy hearing the myth of the moons’ creation; perhaps he would listen to more. He flipped forward.

The next image confused him. One human had hold of the other by the waist and was swinging them, slightly lifted above the ground. The human being swung had wide eyes and their face was pigmented with the same pink color he’d observed on Wikus.

“Interesting,” Kkrokpe said aloud.

The final image portrayed the two humans in the act of embracing once more, faces pressed close together. Kkrokpe clicked in satisfaction. At least this appeared to be similar; his kind also touched mouthparts as a sign of affection and willingness to mate.

Kkrokpe tucked the pad back into the drawer.

Now he had a place to start.

 

Wikus sat in front of the radio and stared at the mess of wires. He’d disconnected the device from the ship’s main power and hooked it to a small power cell he’d uncovered in Ross’s room. All that remained was to turn it on and test it.

His fingers hovered over the control switch.

The power cell wasn’t standard, just one Ross had pieced together; it might be wrong for the radio, short it out.

It might not have enough juice to send a signal.

He curled his other hand into a fist and threw the switch.

A small light flashed and the radio sprang to life.

Wikus leaned toward the microphone, taking a deep breath.

The radio blinked off.

“Fok!” he snapped, slamming his hand down on top of it.

The radio blinked back on.

He grabbed for the microphone again but the radio crackled and hissed the light flaring in a discordant rhythm.

After a few moments of swearing and toggling the uncooperative switch, Wikus sat back and stared at the blinking radio, trying to think.

The rigged device wouldn’t work long enough for him to send a coherent message, but if he saved the power, checked back every few days, he might be able to scan for anybody who’d received his cut off distress call. If they got close enough he might even be able to ping his location to them.

It was more hope than he’d had before.

Wikus shut off the radio, grabbed his knapsack and went to look for Christopher.

Christopher had stopped the box making.

But that didn’t mean his behavior had become any less bizarre.

“I have something to show you,” Christopher announced that morning at breakfast.

“What’s that then?” Wikus said, digging the pit out of a piece of fruit.

“There is a written collection of our history and stories on the upper level,” Christopher clicked. “We can go after you are finished eating.”

Wikus almost opened his mouth to protest that there was housework to be done first and froze in the action of biting into the fruit. His eyes widened in horror.

_Fok, I really am becoming domestic._

Wikus put the fruit down.

“You know what?” he said. “Let’s go now.”

_Anything to get me out of here before I turn into a space bug housewife._

He deliberately piled the dirty dishes in an untidy heap in the back room.

He’d do them later.

 

The “library” consisted of a large sunlit room, lined with towering metal shelving. Dayii scampered ahead of them, clicking with excitement.

“Why don’t you go sit down?” Christopher clicked, gesturing to the far wall as he made for one of the shelves. Wikus could see several stone seating areas carved into it, some already occupied by aliens holding data pads.

“Come on, kid,” he beckoned to Dayii, who trotted after him.

Wikus seated himself on an unoccupied bench. Dayii immediately hopped up into his lap. Sighing, Wikus let the chirping youngster settle in, before stroking his antennae back in a way he’d found would make the child purr with contentment, but more importantly, stop squirming.

As Dayii calmed under his hands, he glanced up to look for Christopher, catching sight of the alien seconds before he dropped in next to him, close enough to jostle Wikus, a data pad in each hand.

Thinking he’d not left enough space for the larger alien, Wikus edged down the seat. Christopher responded by scooting closer until their thighs touched.

“Er, Christopher?” he said.

“Yes?”

“Is there a reason you’re sitting so…close?”

The alien busied himself with the data pads. “So that I can read out loud without disturbing the others,” he clicked.

“Oh,” said Wikus. “That makes sense, I guess.”

Christopher fiddled with the controls on one of the pads, blue alien letters flashing by. “Would you like to hear the tale of our solar star’s creation?”

“Sure,” Wikus said, leaning against the stone wall.

“Long ago, all was darkness, only the faint light of distant stars to illuminate the endless night…”

 

After some of the simpler myths, Christopher moved onto poetry. The language was mostly too complex for Wikus to grasp, but the words were spoken in a lower tone than the stories, a musical register that bore many similarities to the purring song Christopher would sometimes sing to calm him and Dayii at bedtime. After a little while Wikus gave up on trying to decipher the words and shut his eyes, allowing the rumble of the language to wash around him. Christopher was warm beside him and despite the hard stone seat Wikus began to drift.

“Wikus, Wikus,” the strange double click of him name roused him.

“What?” he mumbled.

“It’s growing dark; we should return.”

Confused, Wikus opened his eyes. He hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but the sunlight had faded and the library was lit by the strange blue lamps. Dayii was snoozing in his lap.

During his nap he’d sagged against Christopher and the alien’s arm was settled across his shoulders. He shifted and felt Christopher tighten his grip slightly in response.

Wikus's face heated. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

Christopher gave an amused click. “It’s quite alright.”

“It’s just your voice is really soothing,” he fumbled. “And those poems sounded just like that little lullaby you sing—”

“Wikus,” Christopher interrupted gently. “I’m not upset. It’s good that you like the sound of my voice.”

Wikus looked up at the alien, suddenly, strangely aware of just how close he was. He’d never really looked at Christopher from this proximity. Breath passed over the gills in the alien’s throat, warm against his face. The outer ring of Christopher’s gold eyes glinted green in the blue light, keen intelligence and warm compassion.

Wikus shivered.

Embarrassed, he pulled out of Christopher’s hold. The alien let him go.

“We should,” Wikus swallowed, busying himself by scooping up the snoozing Dayii and arranging the little alien against his shoulder before rising. “We should get back.”

Christopher stood and gestured at the entrance.

Wikus headed out into the cool night air.

He wasn’t yet ready to analyze the warm feeling that rose in his chest at being treated so gently, but it didn’t make Christopher’s hand on his empty shoulder any less of a comfort.

 

The shared reading had been a success.

Kkrokpe made a few small notes in a private datapad he’d begun after he’d started courting the human. He’d been unsure at taking Dayii with them at first; the manual had depicted the pair alone, but the hatchling’s presence seemed to calm Wikus and distract him.

In many ways the human responded in the same manner as one of his kind, to affection and gentle touches. He’d tasted Wikus's comfort, a sweet scent undercut by tension which could indicate nervousness, but also excitement. The human continued to allow affectionate touching, even going so far as to touch Kkrokpe in return, to get his attention or offer comfort of his own.

Kkrokpe put his stylus down.

Now it was time to try the other peculiar ritual he’d observed in the picture.

 

He didn’t get a chance until the next time they visited the ship. Wikus fiddled with a mess of wires and controls for several minutes, provoking loud hissing noises that aggravated Kkrokpe’s ears.

“Fok!” he snapped finally, shutting off the main switch.

They gathered a few more supplies. Kkrokpe followed Wikus as he raided the cabins, stuffing strange human coverings and odds and ends into the bags, grumbling to himself as he did so.

Wikus was still giving off the sour musk of anger when they descended from the shuttle and Kkrokpe made a quick decision.

“Come with me,” he said. “I want to stop somewhere before we return.”

Wikus adjusted his bag on his back, but didn’t protest.

Kkrokpe made for a small grove of trees to the west, his pace sedate to allow the laden human to keep up. The light filtered down through the leaves, casting dappled shadows.

The trees appeared empty, but Kkrokpe knew it was an illusion. He shifted his weapon to one hand and let out an extended trill, shifting the pitch from a high to low register.

Quada burst from the branches, chirping frantically. Delicate wings, reflecting a wide spectrum of colors in vivid jeweled tones, beat the air, creating a rush of artificial wind.

Beside him, Wikus swore softly.

“They’re not dangerous,” Kkrokpe said, reaching up with a free arm. A Quada with gleaming red wings landed on it. It gave an inquisitive chirp and Kkrokpe trilled at it in return. “They feed on the flowers of the trees.”

The human didn’t answer and Kkrokpe turned to look at him.

Wikus was staring at the Quada with an expression Kkrokpe couldn’t interpret.

“Wikus?” he said. “Do you not like them?”

The human shook his head. “That’s not it; they’re pretty. Really colorful.”

Kkrokpe gave a curious chirp.

“It’s just,” Wikus rubbed his hand across his face, “Sometimes, it’s like having it shoved in my face, yeah? That I’m so far from home.”

Kkrokpe lifted his arm, urging the Quada into flight. He approached the human and laid a hand on his shoulder. Blue eyes looked up at him as he tried to find words.

“Wikus,” he said finally. “I can’t offer you a way back, but I promise you have a place with me and my son, for however long you will stay.”

Wikus patted his hand and smiled, but didn’t reply.

 

Kkrokpe watched the human walking beside him. Wikus seemed to be in a much better mood; perhaps now was the time to try the strange ritual. He considered asking permission to initiate it, but the human in the image had an expression on its face which he’d come to associate with surprise.

Stooping slightly, he turned and grabbed Wikus around the waist with one arm and hefted him up, making a half turn and putting him back down.

The human shouted, flailing his limbs. “What the fok are you doing, you crazy alien?”

Kkrokpe cocked his head in puzzlement. Wikus's face had turned the same pink shade as the human in the picture, and his eyes were wide with shock, but his tone of voice was one Kkrokpe connected with the emotion of anger.

“I apologize,” he said. “It was…an experiment.”

Wikus stared at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, “An experiment? What kind of fokking experiment was that?”

Kkrokpe considered his answer with care. “On board the ship I observed an image of two humans performing a similar act. They appeared to be enjoying themselves, but you seem to be upset by it.”

Wikus furrowed his brow. “Two humans, swinging each other around?” His eyes rounded. “Dancing? Where did you see a picture of people dancing?”

“In one of the cabins,” Kkrokpe replied vaguely. “What is this ‘dancing’?”

Wikus opened his mouth. “It’s…” he began and fell silent for a moment. “Fok, I’m not sure how to explain. I guess you could call it movement to music.”

“Could you demonstrate?” Kkrokpe clicked.

Wikus shook his head, “I never learned. Besides, two people are needed for the kind of dancing you saw.”

Kkrokpe glanced around to satisfy himself that they were still alone before setting down his bag and gun. He stepped toward Wikus, extending his hands.

Wikus backed up, staring at him.

“I really can’t,” he said, the inflection of his voice indicating distress.

Confused, Kkrokpe made a noise of agreement and didn’t press.

Later that night, Kkrokpe made some more notes in his datapad.

_Dancing ritual: unsuccessful. More research necessary._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, sorry for the long wait! RL intervened majorly and I fell behind on editing this. One the upside, the porn has finally landed! Enjoy everybody and thanks for all the comments!

Wikus carefully rolled a small square of sheet metal into a hollow cylinder, holding it in place as he ran a line of solder down the seam. Turning it on one end, he capped it with a crude nosecone and added small scrap fins. Satisfied that the solder was cool, he handed the little metal ship to Dayii.

“Here you go, kid,” he said. “Now go show off to your mates and let me get some work done.”

Dayii chirped in excitement and scampered out the door.

Wikus stretched, his neck giving a satisfying crack. With the kid out of the way, he could finally organize his belongings, the unstable piles of which were in serious danger of tipping over.

At least Christopher was out of the house, the green alien was really beginning to make him nervous. Dancing! Where the fok did Christopher get that idea? It was stranger than the box making.

The last time he’d danced had been at his wedding. He’d been so nervous he’d stepped all over Tania’s feet but, bless her, she just laughed it off.

Wikus pressed his knuckles to his face, feeling the warm, smooth metal of his ring against his cheek, before rising and heading into the back room. He should get started; Lord only knew how long the toy would keep Dayii occupied.

Wikus hauled his belongings bit by bit into the main room, where the light was better and spread them on the table, folding and stacking. The grass boxes didn’t all fit on the table, so they were piled near the door.

He was stacking his shirts and calculating when he’d next need to do laundry when he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and froze.

A crowd of the little aliens lurked in the doorway, antennae waving as they watched him.

“What do you want?” he asked, nervous to be the sudden focus of so much interest.

Dayii stepped forward and held up the little metal ship.

“Others like. Make for them too?”

_Oh, fok._

A dozen sets of large eyes stared at him, pleading.

Wikus sighed.

“Fok it,” he said. “Come on in.”

 

It took several hours to fashion toys for all the little aliens. Crude metal cars with gears for wheels and rough butterflies with curled wire antennae. At last he finished the final spaceship and shooed the younglings out the door.

Wikus walked to the doorway and leaned against the lintel for a moment, rubbing his aching eyes and enjoying the breeze.

Two aliens, both brown shelled with black markings, walked by the house. One reached out and nudged the other.

“Look,” it clicked, pointing “the creature has _hewieu_. Can you believe it?”

Confused, Wikus glanced in the direction the alien indicated. The only things visible were the grass boxes.

“Don’t be an idiot,” replied the other. “Those must be for Kkrokpe. Who would give it one?”

“Maybe Kkrokpe gave them.”

The first alien shook its head. “Foolish. Look at it; no proper shell, flat face without any mandibles, not even the right number of limbs. Who would want to mate with it?”

“True,” clicked the other. “It probably can’t weave one in return, so it matters little. Come, I’m hungry. Let’s hurry back.”

The two ambled off.

Wikus stared at the boxes; his chest felt suddenly tight.

It all made sense: the boxes, the affectionate way that Christopher kept touching him, hell, the _dancing._

_I’m being propositioned by a fokking alien._

He needed to sit down.

No, he needed to get away.

He tottered out of the house and over to where Dayii was playing with his friends.

“Kid,” he croaked, “I’ve got to go out for a little while. Stay close to the house, yeah?”

He barely heard Dayii’s chirp of agreement, concentrating on not running as he made his way down to the bathing pools, where the sound of falling water could clear his head.

 

Wikus laid his head against the cool stone wall of the canyon and tried to think. Part of him was revolted, his mind gleefully showing him images of antennae and gleaming exoskeleton and tiny vestigial limbs twitching against a segmented belly.

_Not human._

He shuddered.

But another part, larger than he wanted to admit, was drawn to Christopher’s kindness, liked the easy way he fit into their home, the warmth of Christopher beside him, low rumbling songs in the dark.

Wikus groaned and buried his head in his hands.

_Fokking alien and his fokking compassion._

If he acted on this, reached out, what would happen?

He’d accepted Christopher as friend and partner, but _lover_?

How could two beings so different, separated by space and evolution, be compatible?

What if someone heard his distress call?

What if he couldn’t feel physical desire for Christopher?

Worse, what if he could?

His mind shied away from the image of Christopher’s slick tentacles and the thought of how they might feel.

Later, he could consider the physical ramifications of loving an alien later. For now he had to examine how he felt. 

He slipped his wedding ring off his finger and looked at it lying in his palm, the gold gleaming buttery yellow in the light.

He’d always wondered what Tania saw in him.

_‘Till death do us part._

But he hadn’t died. Against all odds, he’d survived.

Christopher hadn’t let him die.

Wikus had never been very good with women, but he’d loved before and he recognized the bubble of warmth beneath his ribs.

“Love you, Angel,” he murmured, kissing the ring before slipping it into his pocket.

 

There were a few sheets of copper metal left.

Wikus folded and soldered, smoothing down the seams. Scraps were wound into a crude flower shape. He stuck it to the lid with a glob of solder.

It wasn’t grass, but he wasn’t one of them.

His ring he folded into a handkerchief with the statue of St. Christopher and tucked it away in a safe place.

He finished cleaning and organizing his belongings with single minded focus, avoided thinking too much about his plan, lest he lose his nerve.

Outside he could hear Christopher clicking to his yellow neighbor and scooped up the box. It looked very small in his hands.

“Wikus?” Christopher clicked.

Wikus turned and thrust his hands out, not quite able to meet the alien’s gaze.

Christopher was silent.

Wikus's stomach turned with nervousness. Had he made the wrong decision?

Christopher’s hands cupped his.


	12. Chapter 12

Wikus was, at the risk of sounding unmanly, completely terrified.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected Christopher to do, drag him off to the back room and reenact a scene from classical science fiction cinema perhaps, but the alien had merely taken the box from him and set it on the table.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” clicked Christopher.

Dazed, Wikus wandered into the back room and sat in the depression of their bed. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

Should he get undressed?

It wasn’t as if the alien hadn’t seen him unclothed, but now nerves fueled the desire to keep something between him and that hard exoskeleton.

Was this even physically possible?

The sound of Christopher at the door made him jump.

“Wikus?” he clicked from the main room.

Wikus's mouth was completely dry. He swallowed, “In here.”

Christopher appeared in the doorway.

“Where did you go?” Wikus asked, grasping at some strand of normality.

“I was informing my son that we would need some privacy and to play with his friends for a while.”

Wikus's eyes bulged, “You told the kid!”

“Only that we needed time alone,” Christopher was unconcerned.

“Don’t tell him that!”

“Then what should I have told him?”

Wikus stuttered.

“It is not a problem,” clicked Christopher. “Dayii is old enough to remember his other parent. He understands.”

Wikus covered his eyes and groaned, “Fok.”

“Besides,” Christopher clicked. “We’re not going to do anything.”

Wikus's head snapped up, “What?”

“Wikus,” Christopher clicked gently, “I can smell your fear from outside.”

Humiliated, Wikus looked away.

Christopher cocked his head and looked at him. “I’m not going to hurt you, Wikus, and I confess I’m a bit confused why you indicated a desire to pair if you were not ready. I thought you didn’t understand what the tokens meant.”

“That’s because I’m a fokking idiot,” muttered Wikus. He sighed, “I overheard a couple of your buddies talking about me. And I do...” _Love you?_ He tried to think of a term the alien would understand. “Want to mate. It’s just the…you…” He gestured helplessly.

Christopher’s antennae stood up. “You’re concerned about physical intimacy?”

Wikus wondered if his face was permanently dyed red.

Christopher gave a thoughtful click and turned to light the lamp on the wall, throwing everything into stark relief. “I have an idea. Move over.”

Wikus shifted and Christopher crawled in next to him, stretching out full length.

“Touch me,” he clicked.

“Touch you?”

“Think of it as an anatomy lesson if you like,” Christopher clicked. “This is your opportunity to explore a bit. I won’t touch you in return unless you give me permission.”

Wikus stared at the alien. He’d touched Christopher accidentally in the beginning and later deliberately, proprietary hands on a shoulder or back, but he’d never considered touching the alien as he might a lover.

Steeling himself, Wikus ran a hand down the Christopher’s chest, down to the indentations where the secondary limbs were tucked. He’d never touched the little arms of his own volition before and followed the bend of the hinge joint with his fingers, feeling them twitch, the small pincers flexing.

Christopher’s exoskeleton didn’t have the same sensitivity as human skin, but Wikus found he could provoke a reaction by running his fingers down the seams where the sheets of chitin came together. Christopher shifted slightly, breath huffing through his gills.

Moving on, he shifted his touch up to the alien’s face, both the strangest part of him and the strongest source of something like erotic desire. He felt the sensitive mandibles, flattened on the ends and covered with bristles and slid his fingers between the slick tentacles.

They curled around his fingers in response and Wikus recalled the way Christopher had taken the berry from his hand. The thought sent a dark wave of heat through him. He stifled a groan.

Christopher continued to watch him without saying a word.

Scooting closer he leaned down and kissed the alien, running his tongue along the tentacles in a fit of daring. The taste was sharp but not exactly unpleasant. A tentacle slid into his mouth, gently probing and he sucked on it.

Christopher let out a low buzz, hands flexing restlessly as they lay beside him.

Lifting his head, Wikus touched the small overlapping armor plates between Christopher’s eyes. He traced the shape of the sockets and the alien shut them.

Worrying his lip between his teeth, Wikus shifted down and tugged on Christopher’s arms, moving them away from his body before straddling the narrow segmented abdomen.

Christopher looked up at him, the picture of patience, but Wikus could see the flutter of his gills, breath just a touch too quick.

He allowed his weight to rest on top of the alien, taking care to move the secondary limbs out of the way, so as not to crush them. This was more familiar; warm exoskeleton against his body already a feeling associated with rest and comfort. Wikus tried to relax.

He could feel the tiny limbs bump against his sides, twitching as Christopher attempted to hold them out laterally.

Trying not to touch him.

Wikus reached back and guided them to rest against him.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled, trying to tamp down on the shiver that threatened at the tickling feel of the small claws through his shirt. “That’s got to be uncomfortable.”

Christopher didn’t answer, but one of the pincers clamped around his thumb. He tensed, but it didn’t press down, just squeezed gently before letting go.

He lay still, letting Christopher hold him with those arms which didn’t quite span his waist.

He was comfortable like this, maybe enough to allow himself a little curiosity?

Wikus slid his hand down between them, shifting one leg so he could touch the exoskeleton covering Christopher’s groin, smooth plates coming together in a ridge.

He ran his fingers along the small groove at the peak, down until he touched something warm and wet.

Christopher shuddered.

Wikus paused, but when the alien didn’t protest he palpated further, rubbing the outside of the narrow slit. He hesitated, but Christopher had invited him to touch wherever he liked.

He slid a finger inside.

Christopher’s hands dug into the pad of the bed and he made a sound Wikus had never heard before, a low trill just barely in the register of his hearing.

Muscles fluttered and contracted around his finger. Wikus couldn’t feel anything close to a woman’s clitoris near the slit, but he stroked the internal walls, checking for a response.

Christopher buzzed and squirmed beneath him, arching. His tentacles twisted and curled and Wikus stared at the mouth which was half nightmare, half oral sex wet dream.

_I wonder if he’s ever…_

Wikus sat up and scooted down the alien’s body.

“Wikus?” Christopher clicked. “What are you doing?”

“Just hang on a minute,” Wikus said, even as he wondered if he’d lost his mind. “I want to try something.”

Up close he could see the liquid he’d felt, pale grey and trickling from Christopher’s cloaca. The exoskeletal plates were slightly retracted, the groove wider than it had felt before.

Inside, Christopher had said.

Avoiding the groove for now in favor of the more familiar part, Wikus touched his tongue to the cloaca. The taste was not as sharp as the alien’s mouth, but still strange and intense.

Christopher jerked as if he’d been electrocuted, the hard shell of his groin smacking into Wikus's forehead and dislodging him.

“Fok!” he yelped, rubbing his head.

“What was that?” Christopher clicked.

“You didn’t like it?”

Christopher considered for a moment. “It was intense, and unexpected, but it felt pleasant,” his clicks were tinged with wonder.

“It’s supposed to,” said Wikus. “Sit still for a bit, will you?”

_Before I lose my nerve._

He returned to what he was doing. Christopher obeyed his request and lay still, but Wikus could feel him trembling. It was a bizarre sensation. The alien was taller and stronger than he could ever hope to be, but he shook under Wikus like he might come apart.

Made daring by this thought, Wikus shifted up slightly and ran his tongue down the groove in the exoskeleton.

Christopher trilled and the plates retracted further. A thin organ slipped from between them.

Wikus stared at it. It was coated in slick fluid and only roughly shaped like a penis. The pointed shape made him think more of an ovipositor. He reached out and touched, curling his hand around it.

Christopher gave a desperate click, “Wikus…”

Wikus swallowed hard and dipped his head, licking the end of the organ.

The alien spasmed beneath him and Wikus barely jerked his head out of the way as he came, trilling and clicking too quickly for Wikus to understand.

_Wow._

Sitting up, Wikus was keenly aware of three things. One, Christopher’s semen was black and his shirt was covered in it. Two, he’d just performed oral sex on a giant bug.

Three: he’d gotten hard while doing it.

_Jesus, I really am fokked up._

He rolled off of the alien for a moment, stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside before crawling back into bed.

Christopher gave a low cricket chirp and moved, opening his legs and allowing Wikus to settle between them. He could feel the damp heat of the Christopher’s cloaca through the fabric of his pants.

Wikus stared at him. Christopher was actually going to let him?

His erection throbbed.

“Wikus,” Christopher clicked, shifting under him.

Wikus's mind flashed back in a bizarre recollection. Being planetside, before he’d ever gone into space and met Tania. An evening with an old schoolmate, well lubricated with liquor.

“To Wikus,” Fundiswa had laughed, tossing his head back, white teeth glinting in the yellow light of the cheap lamp, “the big shot astronaut, soon to be flying through space, fighting monsters and teaching alien women to love.”

Christopher gave an impatient chirp and pressed against him. His organ hadn’t fully retracted and one three fingered hand slid down to touch himself, coaxing it back out.

Even as he struggled to open his pants, Wikus looked at Christopher and couldn’t help the slightly hysterical thought that this probably wasn’t what Fundiswa had in mind.

Wikus squirmed back between the alien’s legs, groaning as his erection bumped against hard, smooth exoskeleton. He slid down, felt heat and moisture and pressed forward.

Christopher let out a rapid, clicking buzz.

Wikus gasped.

Christopher was tight, so snug that Wikus wondered if he was hurting him, slick and hot around him.

Wikus gripped the alien’s thighs and held on, trying not to come.

Then Christopher bucked and he almost lost it.

“Fok.” he moaned. And then he was thrusting, unable to think or hold back because Christopher felt so good and God it had been so _long_.

Christopher’s clicks were white noise in his ears, but he managed to maintain enough presence of mind to reach out and stroke the alien’s organ.

Christopher let out a buzzing sound and came again, semen painting black streaks across Wikus’s chest. The alien’s cloaca contracted around him and he jerked and came.

Wikus slumped over Christopher and tried to breathe.


	13. Chapter 13

Wikus came awake slowly, aware that something sharp was digging into his side. He shifted, grumbling, and felt Christopher move in response, letting out a sleepy chirp before settling. He blinked and let his gummy eyes focus.

He was tucked against Christopher’s side, sharing the heat that the large alien radiated, a strange position which was nonetheless becoming his usual spot.

What wasn’t usual was that he was shirtless and black streaks of alien semen were crusted on his chest like a child’s careless fingerpainting.

_Oh, right._

Wikus stared up at the ceiling.

_I had sex with an alien._

_Fok that, I_ enjoyed _sex with an alien._

He let out a soft, hysterical sound, halfway between laugh and whimper.

“Wikus?”

He glanced over at his companion. Christopher had raised his head and was watching him. Dayii was peeking sleepily over the hill of his father’s side, both aliens looking at him with concern. Fok, since when was he able to decipher expressions on those insectoid faces?

Then he registered the child’s presence and almost swallowed his tongue.

“What the fok is he doing in here?” Wikus yelped, trying to cover the damning evidence on his chest.

“You fell asleep,” Christopher clicked. “It was time to rest, so I called him away from his friends.”

“Took a long time,” Dayii clicked helpfully. “Dark outside.”

Wikus moaned, mortified, “Couldn’t you have woken me so I could clean up first?”

“We can go bathe now,” clicked Christopher. “I will get the soap.”

“Oh, no,” said Wikus, waving his hands in negation. “I am not walking down through the middle of the fokking town like this. Just, no.”

“Very well,” clicked Christopher, exasperated. “I will bring back something for you to wash with, since you feel the need to hide in the house.”

“Shut up.”

“And here I thought copulation might calm you.”

Wikus scowled, “Fok you.”

Christopher trilled in amusement, “Perhaps later.”

Wikus flushed red and clamped his mouth shut.

 

Kkrokpe stepped outside his home, intent on going after water, and ran into Xezibeh. His friend had a large pot tucked under one arm. He started to raise his hand in greeting, but Xezibeh froze, yellow antennae waving. The pot clanged to the ground. His friend’s eyes bulged.

Kkrokpe braced himself.

“You mated with it?” Xezibeh shouted.

“Keep your voice down.” Kkrokpe snapped.

“How can I keep my voice down?” Xezibeh said. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Of course not.” said Kkrokpe.

Xezibeh wrung his secondary limbs. “How could you?” he said. “That’s like mating with a Qoko!”

Kkrokpe gave an angry buzz. “Wikus accepted my proposal. I have already taken him into my nest. His status is the only thing that changes with this development and I am insulted you would insinuate that I would mate with something less intelligent than a scavenger.”

Xezibeh made a mournful click and buried his head in his hands. “The Leader is not going to be pleased.”

“I have done nothing worthy of censure,” Kkrokpe said firmly, retrieving his friend’s pot from the dust and pressing it into his hands. “Now go, and please refrain from gossiping about my business.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Kkrokpe.”

 

The aliens may not have appeared remotely human, but their semen was just as sticky and hard to remove. Wikus scrubbed his chest with a wet bit of cloth, scowling at Christopher, who was seated at the table, poring over his work. On the surface the alien appeared to be paying him no mind, but he could see the slight quiver of Christopher’s antennae, a signal of his amusement.

He’d felt a small measure of petty satisfaction at the white streaks left on Christopher’s thighs, until he realized that it easily flaked off the hard exoskeleton when dry.

_Lucky bastard._ He thought, wincing as a clump snagged on a bit of hair.

Across the table from his father, Dayii perched on a stool, clicking to himself as he moved the tiny metal ship through the air.

Wikus dipped the cloth back into the bowl of water and wrung it out. A last few swipes satisfied him that he was clean and he scooped up the bowl and went to dump it, tossing the cloth aside with the rest of the things to be laundered.

“Can I borrow some of your soap?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if it would function to clean his clothes, but after weeks of sand and water he was willing to try just about anything that might remove the stains.

“Of course,” clicked Christopher. “In the back.”

Sifting through the side room he uncovered a small stack of the dry yellow bricks. He picked one up and hefted it in his hand, watching as a few pieces flaked off.

He gathered his clothing, wrapping the hunk of soap inside the bundle and headed for the door.

A plated arm slid around his waist, snagging him as he edged past the table.

“Fok it,” he snapped, squirming as he turned to face the alien. “Will you stop startling me like that?”

Christopher looked at him.

They were almost of a height like this, Wikus realized. Seated, Christopher’s antennae still rose above his head, but now, without craning his neck, he could look the alien in the eye. It was disconcerting.

Christopher’s hand slid up his back, between his shoulder blades. He hadn’t put on a shirt yet, planned to wash up properly while he did his laundry and the caress of a warm palm on bare skin made him shiver.

Christopher leaned in.

Wikus opened his mouth but the protest that wanted to emerge died on his tongue.

Christopher’s tentacles brushed against his face and split, enveloping him, the longest feelers writhing like snakes as they slid along his jaw. Mandibles brushed against stubbled cheeks, tickling and the smaller tentacles slipped into his open mouth, rubbing gently against his tongue.

He wanted to push the alien away, wanted to suck the small feelers again and hear Christopher purr, wanted to put his arms around him and rest his weight against green exoskeleton.

He was frozen.

Christopher slowly withdrew. Antennae dipped down, brushing against his hair before the alien released him. It had the feel of a ritual to it, instinctual, Christopher reaching out to a set of matching antennae that were not there.

His throat grew suddenly, inexplicably tight.

Christopher turned back to his work. On impulse, Wikus reached out, touched the waving antennae. Just a brush, the back of his knuckles against them, an acknowledgement.

Christopher went still. Gold eyes met his.

Uncomfortable, Wikus retreated, shifting his bundle of laundry into both arms.

“Kid,” he said, looking over at the tiny alien. “Want to come with me?”

Dayii chirped in delight and hopped down from his stool, clutching the toy.

“I’ll be back in a bit then,” he called over his shoulder, hurrying out the door.

He was in such a rush he nearly collided with a large grey alien in the doorway. Stepping back he felt Dayii bump into his legs.

“Sorry,” he said.

Sharp gold eyes focused on him. Antennae waved, tasting his scent.

A frisson of fear, from some deep place, prickled up his spine.

They were the same color as Christopher’s, but the razor focus in those eyes, processing him as a collection of sights, scents and sounds; sweat, breath, heartbeat, unnerved him.

Predator.

Wikus gripped his pile of clothes and didn’t look away. He felt Dayii press against his legs.

Behind him, Christopher let out a low buzzing click.

The creature broke the stare and looked behind him.

Christopher had risen from the table and was watching them, eyes narrowed.

“Wikus,” he clicked, “I have to go somewhere. I may not be back until later.”

Wikus looked back at the grey alien and swallowed. “Okay.”

He dropped a hand, touching Dayii’s head to steady himself.

“Come on.” he said, urging the youngling on with a gentle touch.

The grey alien moved aside and Wikus scurried out the door.

As he herded Dayii down the path, he glanced back.

Christopher and the grey alien were nowhere to be seen.


	14. Chapter 14

Kkrokpe stood before Nkkozee. His antennae curled forward, drooping in submission, but his posture was strong.

Nkkozee’s antennae twitched in agitation. “I assume you know why you’re here?”

“I am a bit puzzled,” said Kkrokpe. “I do not think I have done anything wrong.”

“So you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“Don’t play coy!” Nkkozee snapped. Grumbling, he turned aside in disgust. “Not that you need to speak your abomination aloud. Anyone with one working antenna can smell it on you.”

“Abomination?” Kkrokpe straightened. “I would not call it that.”

“Then what would you call it? Coupling with a creature?”

“I courted Wikus, he accepted. He is my mate.”

“Mate?” Nkkozee clicked in surprise. “How could you do this?”

“You were the one who placed him under my care.”

“I told you not to lose perspective!” Nkkozee shook his head. “It might be different if you were merely sating some…appetite. But you’ve given it status in the Hive!”

“You encouraged me to look for a mate.”

“And you twist my words to suit your own purposes in petty rebellion.”

“I would never rebel against you.”

“Kkrokpe,” said Nkkozee, stepping towards him, his posture one of threat. Bending down, he slid his large mandibles around Kkrokpe’s throat, spikes brushing along the sensitive gills. “I have allowed you a great deal of freedom. I understand that your position is not an easy one.” Mandibles squeezed lightly, warning pressure “But do not think if you challenge my authority before the Hive that I will show any mercy.”

Kkrokpe stood very still. “This is not a challenge. I know my place. I was merely offering Wikus one of his own.”

“And has your loyalty to the Hive been compromised?”

“No.”

“If I told you to take it out to the plains and kill it, would you?”

Kkrokpe was silent.

Nkkozee gave a grunt of displeasure and turned away.

“My primary obligation is and always will be the protection of my people,” Kkrokpe said quietly.

“Of course it is,” said Nkkozee. “It’s encoded in you down to the core. You’ve got more protective instinct than a worker.” He was silent for a few moments. “I suppose it’s well enough that you have something else to protect,” he said, half to himself, “if only to keep you from getting ideas.” He focused back on Kkrokpe. “Am I going to wake up one morning and find you challenging me to ritual combat?”

“I have no desire to be leader. My family is my main concern.”

“That’s a lie,” Nkkozee said mildly. “You’ve got the desire written in every line of code, but you can control it.”

“I can.”

“Go then, back to your family.”

Kkrokpe made a respectful gesture and turned to leave.

“I’ve bet heavily on your control, Kkrokpe. Don’t disappoint me.”

 

The aliens were watching him.

Wikus walked quickly, trying to ignore the maddening prickle of gazes.

Of course he always drew stares, but today he seemed especially noticeable. Several times he’d walked past a group of aliens chattering to each other, only to have them halt their conversation, antennae waving as they stared after him.

What the fok was suddenly so interesting about him?

The sensation of being watched, along with the niggling feeling of worry for Christopher, made Wikus jumpy. He finished cleaning up as fast as possible and hurried back to the house.

The normality of the scene that greeted him made a mockery of the squirming discomfort in Wikus's stomach that had haunted him all afternoon. Christopher had returned while he was doing the washing and was sitting at the table once more, data pad in front of him. A three dimensional projection rose in front of him, blue and translucent, a topographical map which he turned and manipulated in a casual display of technology that would have made Ross or any other human engineer salivate.

Wikus made himself put his clothing away in the small metal chest he’d gleaned from the back room and emptied of its contents. Grabbing some pieces of dried fruit to give himself a reason to be at the table, he seated himself across from Christopher.

“So,” he said, trying to suppress the concern in his voice. “What was the thing this morning about?”

Christopher looked up at him. “I thought that touching mouths as a sign of affection was also common among your species.”

Wikus scowled. “Stop evading the fokking question.”

Christopher huffed a breath through his gills. “The leader desired an explanation for our…situation.”

Wikus furrowed his brow. “Why does he care who you’re fokking? Hell, how does he even _know_?”

“He cares because when I took you as a mate, I essentially gave you status among us,” Christopher clicked. “As for how he knew, he could smell you on me.”

Wikus groaned, “Well that fokking explains the staring then. But what do you mean by status?”

“Status as one of us,” clicked Christopher, “entitled to protection by our Hive.”

Wikus stared at him.

_Fok, I’m not just sleeping with an alien._

_I_ married _an alien._

He felt a bit faint.

Christopher stared at the datapad. “He is still mistrustful. Accepting a member of another Hive is a lengthy process; to have a stranger dropped into our midst has him on edge.”

“Why? I’m smaller than most of you. Fok, you could probably tear my head off.”

“He learned of the weapon you used on the Rhoye.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“I know,” Christopher clicked, meeting his gaze. “I trust you.”

“You do?”

“You offered me your trust when we barely knew each other,” Christopher’s eyes were warm, “the least I can do is reciprocate.”

Wikus swallowed and turned aside, embarrassed by the direct stare.

Fumbling for something to say, Wikus popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. One of Christopher’s earlier, incongruous remarks struck him, “How did you know that humans touch mouths to show affection anyway?”

Christopher turned back to his datapad. “I observed an image of it in the manual I discovered in the med bay.”

“Manual? What manual?”

“I assume it was some kind of human mating manual. It was brightly colored and depicted two humans embracing on it. Most of it was confusing or unintelligible, but some of it was helpful in conveying my intention to mate with you.”

Wikus's forehead wrinkled in confusion. Phyllis didn’t keep many manuals in the med bay, though Les was always mocking her for her trashy choice in reading material…

Wikus choked.

_He, he used a…_

Wikus's breath heaved, trying to suppress the little convulsions in his chest.

Christopher looked at him in concern. “Wikus?”

_And, and it fokking worked._

Wikus was suddenly overcome with body shaking, helpless laughter.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news: this chapter contains porn. The bad news: it is very bizzare, angsty porn.

Wikus's routine stayed much the same, but the changed dynamic between him and Christopher charged their interactions. Wikus had almost forgotten the excitement that came with having a new lover, the novelty of each other’s bodies, and the pleasure of stealing a few moments alone. Christopher discovered stimulating the small points of his nipples with slick tentacles could render Wikus incoherent and Wikus found that running his fingers along the alien’s antennae had Christopher pinning him to the wall of the storage room, three fingered hands yanking his pants down. It was almost worth the embarrassment of finally asking Christopher to go down on him.

It was both one of the most erotic experiences of his life and profoundly frightening, lying back helpless, watching as his cock slid between mandibles and tentacles; half afraid he might lose it.

But Christopher was gentle and the combination of feelers twining around him, running through the wiry hair at the base, a source of fascination for the alien, stimulating his shaft as more slipped down to feel the sac had him coming fast enough to be a blow to his ego.

Basking in the warmth of Christopher’s affection and with plenty of tasks to keep him occupied, it was all too easy to fall into a routine. But the realization that he had not returned to check the radio in over a week nagged at him, tainted by a simultaneous reluctance to do so.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know if there’d been an answer to his distress call.

Ignoring the guilty feeling in his gut, he finally asked Christopher to escort him out to the ship under the official reason of retrieving more supplies.

The alien agreed and they arrived at the shuttle in the early afternoon. Wikus dawdled over gathering more metal scrap from Ross’ room and some of the pale, vitamin-rich paste that served as deep space emergency rations from storage.

He ripped open a tube and sucked out the contents out as he explored the med bay, making a face at the flavor. Millions in research and they still managed to make it taste like wallpaper paste.

He was digging through the med bay cabinets, checking for additional medication and bandages when, under a stack of surgical exam gloves, he discovered some tubes of medical lubricant.

He hesitated before picking one up, feeling the weight of the metal cylinder in his palm.

Should he?

He stuffed the tube into his knapsack, trying not to think about what it represented.

Returning to the main control room, Wikus found Christopher standing at the open door to the shuttle, antennae waving as he watched the sky.

“Something wrong?” Wikus said, propping his knapsack next to a seat.

“There’s an electrical storm coming.” Christopher clicked.

“Do we need to leave?”

“Not safe to do so,” Christopher said. “We’d never make it across the plains in time.”

“What should we do?” Christopher hadn’t turned to look at him, but beyond the alien’s head Wikus could see the sky was turning dark. There was a tightness in the air.

“I’m going to check and see how well the ship is grounded,” Christopher said, moving from the hatch to lay down his weapon near the control panel. He set a small communication device on top of the panel before starting to climb down the ladder. “It would be best if we could stay here; there’s no shelter nearby.”

The alien disappeared from sight.

Wikus followed him to the door and looked out across the plains. A mountain of dark clouds roiled in the distance, cross hatched with lightning. A low rumble of thunder reached his ears.

An electrical storm of that magnitude might blow out his jerry rigged radio. He should disconnect it before it hit.

Wikus seated himself at the control panel, reaching for the power cell and antennae connections, and hesitated.

He flipped on the switch.

The radio blinked and hissed.

Wikus ran a cursory check of the official command channels. Just a quick scan, probably wasn’t anyone out there anyway…

_“…ikus?”_

He froze.

More static and then, _“…calling…three days.”_

His heart sank.

_“…can’t…location.”_

Wikus flipped off the switch and nearly tore the connection cables off the device. In his haste he bumped the communicator left by Christopher. It crashed to the floor. Panicked, he grabbed for it and something sharp sliced into his fingers.

“Fok!” he shouted, his voice hollow in the empty ship.

_I can’t deal with this, cantdealwiththis…_

Groaning, he buried his head in his hands.

_Why now?_

Blood from his hand trickled down the side of his face.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there in the strange twilight of the coming storm, meaningless, irritating clicks sounding in his ears.

A hand on his shoulder startled him and he looked up, flinching as the shadow of a monster loomed over him.

“Wikus?” clicked Christopher. “I was calling your name, are you alright?”

Wikus stared dumbly at the alien for a few moments. “I cut my hand.” he said finally. He looked down at his injury but in the dim light he could barely see the dark fluid against his fingers.

“I broke your communicator,” his voice sounded strange to him.

“It’s not a problem,” Christopher said, taking his hand. “Let’s go clean it up. Do you have any small emergency lights?”

“First storage room, right side,” Wikus said automatically.

The alien drew him to his feet and towards the med bay, stopping to retrieve one of the cylindrical battery lanterns. He turned it over, examining it.

“Twist the top,” Wikus said.

The alien did so and pale white light flared into existence, throwing the lines of Christopher’s face into sharp relief, grotesque features exaggerated by the deep shadows.

Christopher guided him into the med bay and seated him on Phyllis’s bunk, setting the lantern down beside Wikus before digging into the drawers for bandages and disinfectant.

Outside, thunder rumbled, close, sending small buzzing vibrations across the skin of the ship.

Christopher knelt before him and lifted his hand, tipping some disinfectant over his fingers.

The pain shocked him and he tried to snatch his hand back. The alien hung on.

After a few moments the burning eased and he sat back, watching as Christopher bandaged his hand, thick fingers moving with dexterity.

A strange wild ache gripped Wikus's heart.

He laid his free hand on Christopher’s head.

The alien paused, releasing his hand. “Wikus?”

He pressed his hand against Christopher’s forehead, just above his eyes, easing his head back a little, before leaning down and kissing him at the top of that writhing, foreign mouth.

Christopher sat still and let him.

Wikus groped for the lantern at his side, turning it off before tugging on Christopher, trying to get him up onto the narrow bunk.

The alien went willingly, allowing himself to be pushed down among the sheets. Wikus rose and moved towards the cabinets. He was blind in the sudden dark, but felt his way along.

“Wikus, what are you doing?” Christopher clicked.

Wikus dug into one of the cabinets, his hand closing around a tube of lubricant and didn’t answer.

He could hear Christopher start to sit up as he returned to the bunk and he put out his bandaged hand, flinching in pain as he pressed the alien back into the bed. He stripped as best as he could with only one hand and crawled on top of him.

The feel of exoskeleton against bare skin never really registered as pleasurable, small spines poked him, but the warmth and darkness provoked a feeling of safety. A childish assurance; _if I close my eyes, no one can see me._

See his transgression.

_Neither shalt thou lie with…_

He crushed the thought before it could finish.

“It’s okay,” his voice sounded very far away. “I want to do this.”

“Wikus?” Christopher’s clicks were tinged with worry. “Are you sure you’re alri—”

Wikus slipped a hand between them and stroked the plates covering Christopher’s organ. The alien jerked and buzzed, cut off.

He continued to stimulate Christopher until he felt the organ slip free, sliding between his fingers.

Wikus sat up, groping for the tube of lubricant.

The tiny white cap escaped his grasp, falling the ground with a soft click drowned out by another rumble of thunder. The storm was around them now; Wikus could hear the rain sliding down the sides of the shuttle.

Slick gel spilled over his fingers. Bracing against Christopher’s chest with his bandaged hand, he reached back between his legs and slid a finger into himself.

It didn’t hurt much, but the strange, not quite right sensation gave him pause. He squirmed, trying to stretch himself, recalling the rough jokes of friends and classmates, things he’d never quite had the courage to try with Tania.

He slid another finger in, gasping at the ache and burn. Below him, Christopher shifted, his purring song rising in a low, uneasy rumble.

Thunder roared and the ship swayed slightly in the wind. Wikus could feel the slick press of Christopher’s organ against his thigh.

Sliding his fingers out, he gripped the narrow appendage and guided it in.

Christopher jerked, his purr strangled as his organ stabbed deep. Too fast; Wikus gave a choked cry and curled in on himself.

Christopher pushed himself up. “Wikus…” his clicks were colored with distress.

“I’m fine,” Wikus gripped the alien’s shoulders and tried to breathe. “Just, need a minute, yeah?” God, Christopher hadn’t seemed very large, but now he felt as if he’d been skewered. He sucked a breath through his nose and released it slowly.

Bit by bit his body relaxed, eased past the instinctual response. The discomfort lessened, though he was still sharply aware of the strange hard presence inside him.

Wikus labored up on his knees, still grasping Christopher’s shoulders and thrust back down.

Christopher chirped and bucked, stabbing up inside him.

It wasn’t painful any more, but neither did he feel much pleasure. He’d long since lost his erection, but he continued to move, driven by a desperate determination he didn’t understand. Trying to get Christopher to come.

One plated arm wound around him, halting his movements, and he fought the alien, writhing and squirming.

“Fok,” he whispered hoarsely, “don’t make me stop, don’t fokking make me—”

“Hush,” clicked Christopher. “I’m not going to make you stop.”

Christopher’s hand grasped his limp penis and stroked and Wikus moaned, shaking and open and sensitive and when he tried to raise his body again Christopher let him, stroking his back, supporting some of his weight without trying to guide his movements.

Wikus's knees slipped against the sheets and he shifted to compensate. Weak, electric pleasure shot through him and he moaned.

The storm curled around them, grumbling like an angry dragon. Christopher pressed close and once again he felt those long tentacles dip into his mouth.

_Monster._

_Creature._

_Other._

_Lover._

Wikus buried his face against the chitin plates of Christopher’s shoulder and shook.

 

Kkrokpe lay in the darkness, Wikus tucked against his side, listening to the sounds of the storm. He sang his low song, the one which would lull his son to sleep, trying to soothe the distress in his mate he didn’t fully understand.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can most accurately, if indelicately, summarized as: "In Which Shit Begins to Hit the Fan". Also, heads up, this is where the story begins to earn its "Body Horror" tag. Enjoy. :)

When Wikus woke the storm had passed and the world had the bright washed quality that comes after a long rain. His hand and the area between his legs ached and his eyes were crusted with the salt residue of tears he didn’t remember shedding. He let Christopher bundle him back to the city; wanted to curl into the warm hollow of their bed and sleep forever.

Dayii was frantic at their return, chirping too fast for Wikus's tired mind to translate. Christopher reached down and lifted his son, purring to him, and took them back to the bedroom though it was still early. He urged Wikus down into the depression, setting the little alien on his chest and curling his large body around them both.

Dayii eventually dropped off, but Wikus could tell from the rhythm of Christopher’s breath that he was not asleep.

He wanted to talk, but the swell of his fear rose in his throat and choked him.

Wikus shut his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his hand.

 

The following day was unreasonably hot and humid after the rains and the heat and pain made Wikus more short tempered than ever. The lumpy bandage got in the way of menial tasks and meant that any delicate craft work had to be put on hold.

Plus the fokking thing _itched_.

Left with little to distract himself from the fact that his window of opportunity to return to his own planet was rapidly closing, Wikus grew restless and irritable.

Things came to a head in the sweltering afternoon. Wikus was sorting some of the metal scrap he’d gathered from the shuttle, his hand, swollen and hot, resting on the table. Wikus was stacking washers in a neat pile when his hand jerked and spasmed in the bandages, scraping across the table. Tiny metal fittings scattered across the floor.

“Fok!” he snarled, clutching his hand. “Stupid, fokking, useless…”

“Wikus?” Christopher clicked, looking up from his own work. “What’s wrong?”

“This!” snapped Wikus, waving his bandaged hand. “The fokking thing hurts! Hell, I think it’s getting worse, not better!”

Christopher gave a click of concern. “Let’s take a look. There may be a chance of infection.”

Wikus's fingers drummed on the tabletop as Christopher unwound the bandages, sighing in relief as the pressure on his hand eased. The bandages hadn’t felt tight when Christopher had put them on, but now it felt as if the circulation was being cut off.

“Fok, that feels better,” he said, trying to stretch and separate his fingers as the coils of bandage fell away. They felt thick and strange, vestigial numbness from the bandages probably, “How’s it look?”

Christopher didn’t answer. The alien was staring at his hand, frozen.

Confused, Wikus followed his gaze.

His breath strangled in his throat.

Dark thick ridges traversed the back of his hand, and even though his mind didn’t quite understand, couldn’t quite comprehend, something deep and primal shrieked at Wikus that this was wrong, not supposed to be, not _right_.

His fingers wouldn’t separate under his command, already beginning to fuse together in three thick digits, skin and flesh half melted and merged.

Wikus, faced with the gruesome transformation of his own body, reacted as any ostensibly sane person might.

He screamed.

 

“Wikus,” clicked Christopher desperately “please calm down.”

“Calm down?” bellowed Wikus, clutching his hand, holding it away from his body like a poisonous serpent. “How can I fokking calm down?”

“I am a bit unsure as to how this could have occurred—”

“No fokking kidding! Shit like this doesn’t just happen!”

“The only thing I can think of is that you might have come into contact with the fluid that powers our technology.” Christopher appeared disturbed. “I should have checked your injuries from my communicator last night—”

“You did this to me? What kind of fokking technology does something like this?”

Christopher reached for him. “Wikus…”

“I’m turning into a fokking monster!”

Silence greeted his statement.

Wikus turned to look at his host.

Christopher stood motionless, hands still outstretched. The alien looked down at his own hands; the thick, pointed fingers, ridged with overlapping plates. Slowly he lowered his arms to his sides and Wikus was suddenly sick to his stomach because Christopher knew that word, had heard him use it in reference to the hulking creatures that attacked them, knew its meaning and implications.

“Fok, Christopher.” Wikus stepped forward, hand momentarily forgotten, but the alien withdrew.

“I was not aware you felt that way,” Christopher clicked, the sound low and subdued.

“No, that’s not it.” Wikus groped for something to say. “I don’t think that you, that your people,” he amended hastily, “are monsters.”

“And yet this is repugnant to you.” clicked Christopher, gesturing to his hand.

Wikus looked at his arm and couldn’t think of anything to say.

Christopher sighed through his gills. “My leader thinks that it is wrong that I have taken you as a mate. He calls it _hgrskufh_ , not-clean. I told him that it did not matter that you were different, that we had courted in the proper way and there was no reason why we could not be mates. I suppose I was mistaken.”

“No,” Wikus said, suddenly desperate. “You weren’t wrong; I do care about you. But this,” he held up his arm, “is frightening, and on top of everything, I, I panicked.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll only ever ask one thing of you,” Tania murmured. “Be honest with me.”

Wikus took a breath.

“Weeks ago, when I was on the shuttle, I managed to send a partial distress call. Last night I received an incoming transmission. Someone heard me.”

Wikus sank down on one of the stools and stared at his hand.

“When I got here, I never expected any of this, not you, the kid, any of it. I didn’t know what to do, whether to send a response or not, whether I even wanted to go back. And this,” he turned his hand over, unable to stop the shudder at the sight of the thick chitin erupting through his skin, “this feels like the decision got yanked out of my fokking hands.”

“There are more of your species in this star system?” Christopher’s clicks were terse.

“Yeah, a rescue ship, it sounded like. There was a lot of static.”

Christopher made an unintelligible noise he’s come to recognize as a curse. “That is not good; the leader will be displeased.”

“Why? This might be his chance to fokking get rid of me,” said Wikus bitterly.

“No,” clicked Christopher darkly. “Not after you have spent time among us. He will not allow you to leave with so much information.”

“What information?” said Wikus in surprise. “It’s not like you guys have been shoving military blueprints in my face. Fok, I can’t even read your language.”

“You have spent time in our city; you know its location, physical features, its strengths and weaknesses.”

“Fok,” Wikus spluttered, “you actually think that I—”

“I do not,” Christopher clicked, “but the leader will. It is his nature to do so.” He turned, looking at the glowing image above his data pad, “Right now the Hives are all at peace; it was not always so. It is the leader’s responsibility to protect the members of the Hive.” Christopher looked back at Wikus. “You are foreign, other. If he learns that you have drawn more of your kind here, he will eliminate you.”

The hair on Wikus's neck stood on end, “What can we do?”

Christopher looked down at his hands for a moment. “Nothing,” he clicked quietly, “nothing but wait and hope that the ship’s presence goes unnoticed.”

“What if they manage to land here?”

“I do not think they will. From what I examined of your ship your navigation systems are very different from our own, and would be unable to compensate for the magnetic field fluctuations of our planet. It is likely they will pass by.”

“So that’s it then?” Wikus said. “Either your leader kills me when he finds out about the ship, or I end up like this?” he held up his hand.

“Not necessarily,” Christopher clicked. “This has never happened before, but our healers are very skilled. It is unprecedented but not, I think, irreversible.”

Wikus's eyes widened. “So you could fix it?”

“So you can go home?”

The words were a punch in the gut, left Wikus's chest tight and aching with the choking residue of anger, and how dare Christopher just stand there looking strangely vulnerable for a seven foot bug and part of him wanted to say no, no I’ll stay with you forever, but a cruel voice that sounded like practicality asked him what the fuck he thought he was doing here and did he actually believe that this, this transgression of space and species, of gender and genetics had any real future?

“Do you want me to go?” sullen, a challenge and a plea both.

_Ask me to stay._

“Do you wish to leave?” the clicked words were quiet and maybe Christopher didn’t mean it that way but it felt manipulative, passive aggressive even.

_How dare you, you fokking bug, how dare you make me say it first, say that I…_

Wikus looked away. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said, crouching down to the floor to retrieve a small metal fitting, his hand half tucked near his belly. An instinctual position, like an animal with a wounded paw. “Like you said, the leader would never let me go.”

_Coward._

“No,” clicked Christopher. “No, he wouldn’t.”

Wikus didn’t respond, dropping the washers and screws in his palm onto the brushed metal of the table. The fittings spun and danced, falling into a pattern more inscrutable than the bone fragments and shells of a fortune teller.

The clink of metal sounded like finality.


	17. Chapter 17

They didn’t speak for the rest of the day. Wikus concentrated on small menial tasks to avoid the heavy stone of guilt in his belly and Christopher returned to his work. Wikus wrapped his hand and forearm loosely in some of the extra bandages, more to hide it from sight than out of any concern for keeping it clean.

Christopher didn’t offer to help.

He didn’t know how to deal with it, this silence between them. He’d argued with Tania before, little bickering fights, but this was completely different, raw and painful.

It would be better if he could deny his disgust, but his mutating body terrified him. The horror of it infected him, dogging his mind like a starving wolf on the scent of blood. He’d sneezed into his bandaged arm only to find it covered with black mucus. Fingernails dropped off as he manipulated objects, leaving behind vulnerable pink nail beds.

The sun began to set. Wikus put his work aside and began preparing the evening meal, his movements awkward, hampered by his bandaged hand. Done at last, he called Dayii in from where the little alien was playing.

The youngster scampered inside and scrambled onto his stool, chirping with eagerness as Wikus set his bowl in front of him. Wikus placed his own bowl on the table before approaching Christopher.

The alien had long since ceased his work and was staring at the projection above the datapad, lost in thought. Wikus's stomach churned with nervousness.

“Christopher?”

The alien’s head jerked up, startled, “Yes?”

“Dinner,” Wikus said, offering the bowl.

“Yes, thank you.” Christopher reached out and took it. Long fingers brushed against his and Wikus almost reached out, wanted to touch.

He kept his hands to himself.

When the meal ended, Wikus rose to clear the table. Dayii surprised him by leaping up to help, grasping his own bowl and following Wikus into the storage room.

“Wikus?” clicked Dayii.

“Yeah?” Wikus replied, wiping down the bowls with a bit of cloth and stacking them neatly in a pile. He’d wash them tomorrow.

“Are you and Father fighting?”

Wikus paused, staring at the bowl in his hand. The concave surface showed him a warped image of his own face, further distorted by the dim light.

What did he say to that? No, I just indirectly insulted my spouse and all his people by implying that they’re monsters? I don’t know if I’m ready to give up my entire species to play house with an alien? I hurt your father’s feelings because I can’t decide if I really…love him?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Wikus sighed. “Because I’m a stupid human and we tend to speak without thinking when we’re fokking scared.”

Dayii gave a curious chirp. “Why are you scared?”

Wikus hesitated for a moment before crouching before the little alien. Slowly he unwound the bandages on his arm.

Fok, it looked even worse now. The entirety of his hand was engulfed. Nodules of exoskeleton mottled the skin of his forearm, some still swollen, numb lumps just visible beneath the flesh, while others erupted through the dermis, small rivers of blood trickling off the peaks like streams of lava on a volcano. His fingers were fully fused and beginning to lengthen.

Dayii touched the back of his hand with gentle claws. He could feel the tickle even through the layers of chitin.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little bit.”

“Why is it scary?”

“Because my body’s changing into something different, something strange.”

Dayii cocked his head in puzzlement. “But it’s not strange. It looks just like mine.” He held up one tiny arm, stretching it out alongside Wikus's. “See? They’re the same.”

Wikus stared at the youngster and couldn’t think of anything to say.

The little alien reached out, and Wikus accepted the request for an embrace without thinking, pulling Dayii in close.

Dayii snuggled against his shoulder, small antennae tickling his face. “I always go to Father when I’m scared,” he confessed. “He chases the scary things away.”

“I’m sure he does,” Wikus said, trying to hide the amused tone in his voice.

The youngster gave a chirp of assent. They stayed there for a few moments, just enjoying the warmth.

“Does this mean that you’re going to stay with us?” Dayii clicked softly.

Wikus tightened his hold on the little alien and couldn‘t answer.

 

Wikus's heart pounded and he felt a bit sick to his stomach, but he let Dayii pull him back to the bedroom.

Christopher had already settled down and doused the light. Wikus, clumsy and blind in the darkness, stumbled as Dayii tugged on his hand.

He knelt and crawled into the shallow depression of their bed, following Dayii as the youngster curled against his father’s side. He took his cue from the little alien and pressed close, sandwiching Dayii between their bodies.

Christopher didn’t say anything, but a slight intake of breath told him that the alien had noticed.

Wikus gathered his courage and reached out, feeling down Christopher’s arm until he touched his hand. He twisted his hand awkwardly, trying to twine their fingers together.

The angle was wrong and he struggled for a moment, but then Christopher shifted, turning his wrist to allow their hands to clasp.

“Wikus?” Christopher’s voice was soft.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, “I didn’t think and I know that doesn’t make it alright, but I am.”

Christopher’s thumb stroked against his hand.

_I think that I…_

“I’m scared.” Wikus whispered.

Christopher sighed.

“I know.”

 

Dawn light woke Kkrokpe. His mate and child were still asleep, tucked against his body. Wikus's head rested on his shoulder, hair half covering his face. It was longer now, and oily from not bathing. Ragged stubble covered his chin and throat. Kkrokpe let his eyes travel down to where his bandaged hand rested.

The change had progressed further while they slept; exoskeleton crept up beyond the bandages toward Wikus's shoulder and chest. The edges looked swollen and painful, the bright red of an open wound, but the armor plates further down had the gleam of new exoskeleton. Healthy.

Curious, Kkrokpe reached out to touch.

The plates were smooth beneath his fingers, ridged where two came together. The light had brightened and he could see the colors more clearly. Green, like his own, but with underlying shades of yellow instead of red.

Wikus's breathing pattern changed and he knew his mate was awake.

“Don’t,” Wikus's voice trembled.

“Why?”

“Because it’s, because it’s…”

“Ugly?”

Wikus made a small sound of distress.

Kkrokpe continued to stroke his arm, careful to avoid the bleeding edges, “Let me see?”

Wikus remained silent but didn’t protest.

Kkrokpe tugged at the end of the bandage and began to unwind it.

The exoskeleton was rusty with dried blood, which Kkrokpe brushed away, the reddish flakes falling and leaving behind clean, well-formed plates. Three long fingers uncurled from beneath the bandages. Despite his distress at his mate’s fear, Kkrokpe’s scientific mind was impressed by the transformation. It was moving quickly and despite the bleeding as Wikus’s body shifted, it appeared complete, total.

Perfect.

Kkrokpe slid his hand down to explore the spaces between the fingers, curling his own beneath to feel the palm.

Wikus's breath hitched.

“Is this painful?”

“No, but I, I can feel that.”

“Could you not before?”

“No. It just feels…It doesn’t feel that different from before.”

Kkrokpe hummed in assent. He couldn’t tell without a closer examination, but he hypothesized that the original neural connections were still there. He squeezed his mate’s hand and felt his own gripped in return, weak, but he suspected that had more to do with his Wikus's fear of this new part than any physical problem. Kkrokpe lifted the hand to his face and caressed the palm with his primary mouthparts.

Wikus gasped and his scent spiked in arousal.

“Wait,” he stammered.

Kkrokpe let their hands drop but didn’t let go. In truth he’d had no intention of continuing in close proximity to his son; he’d only been trying to make a point.

“Not ugly,” he said. “different, but never ugly.”

Wikus's eyes widened for a moment and a look of guilt fled across his face.

“No,” he said, “not ugly.”

Kkrokpe leaned forward and kissed his mate.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, gentle readers, and thank you for your patience. We're almost in the home stretch. Enjoy! :)

Wikus was in the midst of preparing breakfast, waving off help from Kkrokpe as unneeded and unwelcome, when a commotion outside brought Kkrokpe to the door.

Nkkozee stood there, flanked by several soldiers, a stern expression on his face.

Kkrokpe’s gut clenched, but he kept his voice even, carefully positioning himself so that his body blocked the door. “What can I do for you?”

Nkkozee made an impatient gesture. “Stand aside, Kkrokpe, my business is with the creature.”

“Since Wikus is my mate, I would venture that his business concerns me as well.”

“Your proclivities are hardly the issue here; the creature is a danger to all of us,” Nkkozee said. “A ship similar to the one which brought it here has been spotted in the star system.”

“A coincidence?”

Nkkozee snorted. “Unlikely, considering that our technicians detected an unknown transmission originating from the surface not six solar cycles before it appeared.”

“We have no way of knowing what information was transmitted,” Nkkozee continued, his voice hard. “The creature cannot continue to exist among us; it could bring more of its kind down upon our heads.”

“It is doubtful that the ship has the technology to navigate the magnetic field of the planet,” Kkrokpe offered.

Nkkozee went still. “You knew.”

“Wikus transmitted a partial distress call; there was no additional information—”

“You knew, and you withheld a piece of potentially dangerous information,” Nkkozee’s eyes narrowed.

“As I stated earlier, Wikus is not a danger. You must see—”

“No Kkrokpe, it is you who does not see.” Nkkozee shook his head. “I never should have allowed this to continue.” He gestured to the soldiers. “Take the creature.”

“Nkkozee,” Kkrokpe said.

“Silence, I will deal with your infraction later, when the creature is eradicated.”

The soldiers advanced. Kkrokpe gripped the lintel with both hands.

“Please, Nkkozee, reconsider.”

“I will not. This is my responsibility. You would do to remember your own.”

“Then you leave me with no choice,” said Kkrokpe softly, “I invoke the right of Challenge.”

The soldiers froze, glancing back at their leader. Nkkozee went rigid, eyes blazing with anger.

“I didn’t take you for a fool, Kkrokpe. You asked me to reconsider; perhaps I should offer you the same chance?”

“Will you revoke the execution order?”

“I will not.”

“Then the Challenge stands,” Kkrokpe straightened. “And as such, until it is resolved, all legal processes are to be frozen.”

“I know the law,” growled Nkkozee. “Is there any other foolish thing you would like to say?”

Kkrokpe hesitated. “It is not within my rights,” he said, “but I would ask a boon.”

“What?”

“Give me two solar cycles to put my affairs in order. I must see that my child is provided for.”

“I would be a poor leader if I did not allow you to do so,” Nkkozee said, his voice heavy with disgust. “I wonder if you considered your child at all when making this foolish display?”

Kkrokpe made a gesture of respect. “I thank you.”

“However the creature is to be imprisoned until the Challenge is complete; I will not risk it contacting others.”

Arguing at this point would be unwise; Nkkozee was still well within his rights to demand Wikus's incarceration. “Fair enough. I will retrieve him.”

“Be quick.”

Kkrokpe stepped back into his home. Wikus was lurking in the doorway of the storage room, Dayii half hidden behind his legs.

“Christopher?” he said. “What’s going on?”

Kkrokpe laid a hand on his shoulder. “The ship and your transmission were discovered.”

Fear flickered across Wikus's face. “That’s it then? They’re here to get rid of me?”

“No,” said Kkrokpe sharply. “You must go with them, but you are not to be harmed.”

“I don’t understand.”

Kkrokpe gently squeezed his shoulder; imitating a gesture of comfort he’d seen the human perform. “Everything will be resolved in a few days,” he said. “Please trust me, Wikus.”

Kkrokpe ran his hand down Wikus's arm until he touched the hand shifting into one similar to his own. “Do not be afraid. Be patient, I will come for you soon.”

Wikus reached up with his human hand and touched Kkrokpe’s primary mouthparts. He wound some of them around the slender fingers that had so intrigued him when they’d first met.

“I do trust you.”

Kkrokpe knelt and detached his son from Wikus's leg, gently prying Dayii’s tiny claws from where they dug into the fabric of his leg coverings. He straightened, his son still cradled in his arms.

Dayii made a soft high sound of distress.

Wikus reached out and smoothed the hatchling’s antennae back. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Wikus retrieved one of the large outer coverings from storage and pulled it on, struggling as he forced his changed arm through one of the tubes of cloth. The covering left his arm mostly concealed and a few loops of bandage hid his hand from view.

Kkrokpe made a noise of approval. Better to keep Wikus's transformation a secret for now; there was no telling how Nkkozee might react. With any luck he might resolve things before the leader became aware of the change.

Head high, Wikus stepped through the doorway. Kkrokpe followed, holding his son close and watched as the soldiers herded the human away.

“Two cycles,” Nkkozee said.

“Where?”

“There is an open shelf on level with headquarters. It will suffice.”

Kkrokpe was familiar with it. A narrow area, open to the cliff face, with treacherous footing.

“I will be there.”

Nkkozee grunted and stalked away.

Xezibeh was at his side in an instant. “Kkrokpe, what—?”

“A moment,” Kkrokpe said. Bending down, he set his son on the ground. “Please go play for a few moments, little one.”

Dayii moved away, obedient, but he could feel his son’s reluctance in the grip of his hand.

Kkrokpe turned to his friend. Xezibeh’s antennae waved with anxiousness.

“Kkrokpe, I don’t understand.”

Kkrokpe leaned against the lintel; he was suddenly very tired. “And what is it that you do not understand?”

“I thought you said you didn’t care about being leader.”

“I spoke the truth, but Nkkozee has forced my hand.”

“You could follow him, retract the Challenge.”

Kkrokpe ignored that. “I must ask you a favor.”

Xezibeh made a mournful sound. “You know I will care for your hatchling as if he were my own.”

“Your care is not what concerns me. After this incident Nkkozee may not be willing to risk allowing him to grow to adulthood.”

Xezibeh’s eyes widened. “Then he is also…”

“Yes. It wasn’t clear at first; he was too small, and there are no available records of other drones who survived long enough to bear hatchlings of their own, but the signs are there. He will be a drone as well.”

Kkrokpe turned and fixed Xezibeh with a stare, pressing the force of his command with scent and posture. “If I fall, take him in the ensuing confusion. Head south; the Hives there are brutal and dangerous, but it is not the custom to kill drones in infancy. He will have a fighting chance.”

Xezibeh made a gesture of respect. “I will do so.”

Kkrokpe watched his friend leave before pitching his voice into the high distinctive chirp which would bring his son to his side. As he bundled Dayii into his arms he wondered if Wikus was alright.

 

The room—prison—was small and bare, lit by a single blue lamp. A hole in the corner presumably served as a latrine and the creatures had left him with a bucket of fresh water. Wikus sat on the stone floor and stared at the walls.

Wait, Christopher said, be patient.

Wikus shut his eyes against the glare of the lamp.

His hand and arm throbbed.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More body horror, more sex, more strangeness. Things may not always be as they appear.

Wikus didn’t try to speculate how long he’d been in the room. Once a creature came and left a bowl of meat on the floor. Raw.

Ignoring it, he hunched in the corner and tried to block out the crawling feel, real or imagined, of his body shifting, the pain of exoskeletal nodes forcing their way through skin a constant dull ache.

Movement, twitching in the region of his abdomen, clawing against the cloth of his shirt.

He thought of Christopher’s small vestigial limbs and pulled his coat tighter around him.

_Don’t think._

He waited.

 

He tried to suck in a breath and found his throat blocked. Panicked, he clawed at his coat collar, ripping it open. His chest heaved.

Skin parted beneath his grasping fingers and he gulped in his first breath through new delicate gills.

He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords had already dissolved and he could only produce hoarse grunts.

 

When his upper lip split into long labra, curling and writhing like snakes, he smashed the lamp.

 

His left eye ached, despite the darkness.

 

He wished that Tania would speak to him, but even his ghosts were silent, his harsh breathing the only sound.

 

Light, sudden and sharp; he cowered away, little desperate grunts bubbling out of him. Sharp clicking and then blessed darkness.

Touch on his arm; he jerked in shock.

“Wikus?”

He went still.

_Christopher?_

Nonsense grunts and clicks; his own voice, he realized. His throat was different, his tongue unrecognizable.

“Hush,” a gentle hand touched his forehead, brushing back sweat slick hair that hadn’t yet fallen out. “Your temperature is elevated.”

His hand came up to grasp Christopher’s arm. The number of fingers confused him; too few, was this his alien hand? Left? Right? He couldn’t remember.

The alien pulled him up onto his lap. Blind, Wikus burrowed, pressing close to Christopher’s abdomen. Small pincer claws explored his face by feel, touching against labra, sliding into his mouth to test the deep beds where his molars had dropped out.

“Wikus? I need to get a better look at you.”

Wikus shook his head in silent denial.

“It’s necessary; I must make sure there are no complications. The lamp is not bright.”

A soft click, he squeezed his eyes shut and let the alien stretch him out. His coat was removed and his arms arranged by his sides. Christopher’s hands moved over him, pulling away ripped clothing where his changing frame had burst through seams, delicate, efficient and clinical.

Like he was preparing a body.

Christopher was tugging down the remains of his trousers when the back of a plated hand brushed something that sent an electric shock through Wikus’s body. He spasmed and new mouthparts rasped together. His eyes flew open.

Christopher was crouched between his legs, frozen. His eyes jerked up to meet Wikus's.

“I apologize—” Christopher began and tried to move away. Panicked, Wikus grabbed for him, unintelligible clicks spilling from him as he tried to form words.

_Don’t leave!_

Christopher struggled to extricate himself from the grip of two alien hands. “Wikus…” he clicked.

What’s wrong? He tried to ask and wanted to shriek in frustration at his forced silence. Christopher’s breathing was rapid and he could feel small tremors beneath the hands, _his_ hands.

Realization hit him like a half brick to the skull.

_Now’s not really the time, is it?_

With an expression that spoke of embarrassment Christopher removed one of Wikus's hands from his shoulders and pushed it down between Wikus's legs. Fingers curled beneath his penis and he touched something warm and wet.

Well, that was new.

He lifted his hand. The plates gleamed in the light, slick with fluid.

Christopher twitched and leaned away from his hand, antennae waving.

Of course, James would have berated him if he wasn’t dead and buried: pheromones.

The recognition was surprisingly painful. Just biology, instinct.

Who in their right mind would want the twisted wreck that his body had become?

Wikus dropped his hand and pulled away.

“Wikus? I’m sorry if I, if I offended you. I realize this isn’t appropriate right now and we…” Christopher was shaking, off balance, the closest to babbling that Wikus had ever heard him.

Wikus managed a noncommittal grunt, but Christopher was still speaking.

“…I would never press of course, that goes without saying, it’s only that,” Christopher’s clicks were dwindling, subdued, “you’re very desirable.”

Wikus paused; an incredulous look.

_You’re serious?_

“You think I would lie?”

Wikus could only stare.

Christopher made a pointed study of the floor.

Heart pounding, Wikus shifted, bending his legs, longer than he remembered and strangely jointed, opening them.

Offering.

Christopher was on him in an instant, pushing inside and a cry rasped from his throat at the not quite pain, stretch and fullness and Christopher thrust and he suddenly knew why the alien cried out when he did this.

Wikus gripped Christopher’s shoulders and clung on as they coupled. The musky scent of arousal left him dizzy and his body twitched in confusion as alien nerves were excited, but some deep part of his brain responded to the primal nature of the their contact. Christopher had him pinned to the floor, the sensation of his organ stabbing into him strange and exhilarating. It felt like lust, like impulse.

It felt right.

He bucked and squirmed, trying to encourage his mate without words. Christopher let out an extended chirp and pressed close, labra twining with his own, body smothering, breath damp in the space between them.

Liberated by the knowledge that his tongue wouldn’t betray him, Wikus threw his head back and shouted; wordless grunts and clicks.

_Yesyesyeswantyousomuchohdamnitloveyoufuckmefuckmefuckme…_

Then Christopher reached down, fumbling between them and stroked his penis and he was coming, shaking with pain and pleasure until he was sure he’d come apart.

Wikus sagged against the floor, barely aware as Christopher bucked into him, the heat and wetness a foreign sensation still. Breathing hard, the alien disengaged and flopped to the ground beside him.

They lay in silence for a few moments before Christopher roused. Groping about the floor, he retrieved a scrap of Wikus's shirt and scooted over to the water bucket. Soaking his makeshift rag, he bent to the task of wiping Wikus down. “This was likely not the best idea while you’re feverish,” he clicked.

Wikus squirmed in pleasure at the sensation of the cool rag on heated skin and plates before reaching out to cuff Christopher.

_Stuff it._

Christopher gave his equivalent of a long-suffering sigh and set aside the rag. Dipping up some water from the bucket in a small metal bowl, he offered it to Wikus.

His new hands were still clumsy and liquid spilled over Wikus's front as he tried to drink. Catching the bowl before it could overturn, Christopher pulled him up into his lap, propping him up so he could tilt the bowl without spilling. The water was chill and coolness spread throughout his body.

A warm cocoon of exhaustion wrapped around Wikus. Christopher eased him to the floor and covered him with his coat, the only bit of his clothing which remained undamaged.

A gentle touch on his head. “I must leave,” Christopher clicked. “Rest for now; you’ll only be here one more night.”

Despite the reassuring tone to his words, something nagged at Wikus. He tried to catch the thought, but weariness snatched it from him and he sank into the grey fog between sleep and waking.

 

Wikus was nearly asleep when the metal door creaked open, casting a wedge of light across him. He shut his eyes and curled beneath the coat; probably a guard.

A moment of silence. “So,” clicked a voice, “it is true.”

Wikus's eyes flew open. His fingers clutched his coat convulsively.

The alien leader loomed over him, a shadow stark against the light from the door, head cocked as it examined Wikus.

Long legs bent as the creature squatted near him. “I couldn’t believe it when Gxarrah told me,” it clicked. Reaching out, it tugged at the coat covering Wikus's body.

Wikus flinched at the touch of large claws and tried to pull away.

“Be still,” the creature snapped, clicks harsh and grating. Wikus cowered and went limp.

The leader made a thoughtful sound. “Kkrokpe did say you were capable of understanding our speech,” it clicked, pulling the coat off and tossing it aside, “I wonder then if you can understand exactly what your self-proclaimed mate is sacrificing for you.”

Despite being pinned beneath the sharp gaze, Wikus's heart jumped. He groped at the creature’s arm, trying to speak and silently cursing at the garbled mess that spilled from his mouth.

The creature ignored his pawing and began to examine him instead, lifting up limbs and separating digits, prodding at exoskeletal plates with curious claws.

“The technicians have informed me that the ship which responded to your distress signal has left the star system,” it clicked, “if your intention was to be rescued, that time has passed.”

The creature continued to move down his body, poking and prodding. Wikus held as still as he could, trying not to tremble, but when the alien reached the vulnerable area between his legs he couldn’t hold back a soft sound of distress.

The creature glanced at him. It didn’t stop its explorations, but a low rumble rose from its throat, the same toneless register that Christopher used when he sang to his son.

Despite himself, Wikus found his breath slowing, his body responding automatically to the soothing sound.

Sharp eyes focused on Wikus. “I admit I have been hasty; I know nothing of your society and I should not expect you to understand ours,” it clicked. “We are born into our roles: workers support, soldiers protect, leaders guide. But there can never be more than one leader.”

The creature rose from his side and began to pace the room. “I had great hopes for Kkrokpe,” it clicked, as though to itself. “He and his son were to be proof. Proof to my counterparts that drones can integrate; that our lives are determined by more than our birth. Instead he wastes my efforts in a fruitless Challenge.”

_Challenge? What does he mean by…?_

_‘You are foreign, other. If he learns that you have drawn more of your kind here, he will eliminate you.’_

_Oh Christopher, what did you do?_

“There can never be more than one leader,” the creature clicked “but that does not mean that new leaders are not born.” It shook its head in agitation, grunting in disgust. “My counterparts are blinded by fear. They view drones as agents of anarchy and exterminate them in infancy. They do not see the potential. Kkrokpe is a valuable member of my hive, stronger than a worker and more intelligent than a soldier.”

The leader rounded on him. “And now this potential will be wasted; destroyed by my own hands! Do you understand, creature? Understand what Kkrokpe sacrifices to protect you?” 

Wikus's eyes widened.

_Challenge. A death match. Oh, fok._

“Of course after this incident it would hardly be wise to allow his hatchling to grow to maturity.” The creature leaned over him, clicks cruel and deliberate. “The risk that he too is a drone is also great.”

Panic swelled in Wikus’s chest at the thought of Dayii. His claws scrabbled against the floor.

“Interesting,” the creature clicked as it watched him. “The youngling is not yours, yet you fear for him. Perhaps Kkrokpe’s devotion is not one-sided?”

Wikus froze, caught.

They stared at each other.

The creature blew a breath through its gills. It was silent for a few moments, and then spoke again.

“If I offered you aid; reversed the change and gifted you with a ship to return in, would you?”

Shock jolted through Wikus. Go back to Earth?

The creature continued to watch him, waiting for his answer.

Wikus forced himself to think, to look at the reality of returning to his planet beyond the sharp longing for how things used to be. What was left for him there? A dead wife, a failed mission, broken dreams of finding glory among the stars.

What waited for him here? A new mate and child. Love, whatever strange guise it took. A home.

_‘I can’t offer you a way back, but I promise you have a place with me and my son, for however long you will stay’_

His chest ached at the thought of Christopher.

Slowly, Wikus raised his hand and made a gesture of negation, praying that his response was the right one.

The leader gave a low grunt, seeming satisfied, and turned to leave.

“With your ship gone the danger to the Hive may have passed, but a Challenge, once made, must be carried through,” the creature clicked as it passed through the door. “However, as Kkrokpe reminded me, my first duty is the protection of my people.” The creature paused, looking back at him, “All of them.”

The door clanged shut and Wikus was left in the dark.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the final chapters! I want to thank all of you for your patience and for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, etc. Enjoy! :)

The rising sun had not yet driven the dawn chill from the canyon when Kkrokpe made his way to the open stone shelf where he would face Nkkozee. Nearby ridges and paths were already lined with watchers. They parted to let him pass, the soft clicks of private conversation a steady hum in the background.

Nkkozee had not yet arrived and Kkrokpe took a few moments to walk the perimeter of the arena, watching for uneven patches of earth, stones which could turn beneath an unwary foot. Satisfied, he perched on a rock.

He did not have to wait long. Nkkozee swept up the path, several soldiers in his wake.

Kkrokpe rose from his seat and moved to stand a short distance away, making a sign of respect as he did so.

Nkkozee did not acknowledge the gesture. His posture was stiff with irritation, antennae twitching.

An old soldier let out an extended trilling call and they walked closer, stopping within arm’s reach of each other. From this proximity Kkrokpe was sharply aware that Nkkozee topped him by at least half a head. Black exoskeleton gleamed in the pale light and large mandibles, the vivid red of a Quada’s wings, clicked against each other; marks of a leader in his prime.

He would have to take care and stay out of reach.

The spectators were silent. The air was tight.

Kkrokpe half-expected the leader to offer him another out, half-hoped that he would, but Nkkozee was silent. Momentary cowardice rose, to be crushed beneath thoughts of his mate and son.

They were counting on him. He must not fail.

The soldier cried out again.

Kkrokpe leaped away just in time as large black arms shot out. Fingers brushed his plating as Nkkozee tried to pull him in close. Dancing back, he dodged to the side and lashed out. His blow glanced off Nkkozee’s side and he retreated as the leader turned to strike him. Darting in, he risked another swipe as Nkkozee tried to turn and face him head on.

Too slow; Kkrokpe’s claws caught him on the shoulder, gouging into a seam where exoskeleton came together. The leader grunted in pain and whirled, grabbing for him.

A cacophony of clicking shouts rose around them as Kkrokpe ducked and leaped back, away.

Their eyes locked.

Red trickled down Nkkozee’s arm, nearly invisible against the dark plating.

First blood.

Nkkozee shifted his stance and Kkrokpe lunged forward to meet him.

 

The struggle dragged on, an endless cycle of strike, feint, parry as they circled each other. Kkrokpe tried several times to goad Nkkozee into attacking him, pull the leader off balance, but he was too cautious, relying on his bulk to keep Kkrokpe at bay. He could feel himself beginning to tire. The sun was at its zenith and the canyon walls provided no shade.

He would have to end the fight soon; he couldn’t keep this up indefinitely.

There: an opportunity. The forelimb he’d injured at the start of the match was being favored. He lunged forward, trying to get under Nkkozee’s guard, zeroing in on the weak spot, but then Nkkozee was moving towards him, into the blow. Kkrokpe’s claws bit into black exoskeleton even as he realized his mistake and tried to withdraw.

Too slow! Arms wound around him with crushing strength and he was dragged forward. Nkkozee wasted no time in bringing his superior weight to bear.

They grappled, Kkrokpe struggling to break Nkkozee’s grip on his shoulders, pushing and scratching against the leader’s abdomen even as he was borne to the ground.

Kkrokpe could feel his legs beginning to buckle. Desperate he reached up and struck at Nkkozee’s throat, tearing at the delicate gills. Fragile tissue parted beneath his claws and he heard Nkkozee cry out in pain.

The leader’s grip loosened and Kkrokpe wrenched himself away. Staggering back a few steps he looked for his opponent. Nkkozee was bent over, curled into a defensive position, hands at his throat. Blood dripped between plated fingers into the dust.

_He’s weakened, distracted. Now is the time to strike._

Kkrokpe hesitated. Nkkozee was not moving to attack.

Could he end this without more bloodshed?

He took a cautious step forward, “Nkkozee?”

The leader curled further into himself and did not answer.

Another step.

“Nkkozee?”

Pain exploded against the side of his head, knocking him from his feet. Weight crushed him, his arms pinned. Mandibles clamped around his throat.

Kkrokpe struggled, clawing at Nkkozee’s back and sides, but the mandibles were immovable, biting into his flesh. Strength drained from his body.

_I failed._

_I am sorry, my son, Wikus._

Nkkozee’s mandibles tightened further.

The shrieks of the crowd deafened him.

Kkrokpe closed his eyes.

The mandibles opened and released his throat. Nkkozee’s weight lifted off his body.

Startled, Kkrokpe opened his eyes. Nkkozee stood over him. He planted one foot in the middle of Kkrokpe’s chest and looked out into the crowd.

Kkrokpe started to raise his head, but warning pressure from Nkkozee’s foot told him to stay down.

“You are all witness,” Nkkozee said. “The challenger has been defeated. I am still your leader and, according to law, I will remain so until I am overthrown.” Red mandibles clicked together. “And my first order of business is the revocation of the execution order placed on the alien creature.”

Nkkozee stepped off Kkrokpe’s chest and offered his hand. Hesitant, he reached out and was pulled to his feet.

“I realize there has been some uncertainty in regards to the creature’s presence,” Nkkozee said, “but let it be known that Kkrokpe has taken the creature into his nest and has full sanction to do so. The creature, this Wikus, is hereby accepted as a member of the Hive.” Nkkozee made a commanding gesture, “Dismissed.”

Kkrokpe stood, dumbstruck as the crowd began to disperse, the rapid clicks of conversation a dull buzz in the afternoon heat.

“That went better than expected,” Nkkozee said.

“I do not understand. Why did you revoke the execution order?”

“Because the threat to our Hive is gone. The ship left during the last solar cycle.”

“Then why not tell me?” Kkrokpe said, bewildered. “I would have retracted the Challenge.”

“You think that I retained my leadership through brute strength alone?” Nkkozee made a noise of amusement. “There is more at work here than you can see. And you played your part perfectly, Kkrokpe. Though,” he raised a hand and gingerly felt along the torn edge of a gill, “I did not expect you to be quite so quick.”

“I am sorry.”

“It was a necessary risk. I thought that I could subdue you easily.”

“But why allow the fight to go on?”

“Conceding prior to the fulfillment of the Challenge could have been seen as a sign of weakness,” Nkkozee said, “But appearances are also something to be manipulated. It takes more courage to defeat an opponent and allow them to live; my peers now risk appearing as cowards if they kill drones, particularly as infants.” He hummed in satisfaction. “The changes may be slow, but they will come.”

“And if I had won?”

“Then you would be the new leader,” Nkkozee’s expression was mild, “and I would have trusted you to spare my life.”

Kkrokpe could think of nothing to say.

Nkkozee glanced up at the sky. “It is growing late. You should return to your mate and child.”

Dazed, Kkrokpe made a respectful gesture and headed down the path. He passed Khiwah, walking in the opposite direction, but did not turn to watch, allowing Nkkozee privacy to reunite with his own mate.


	21. Chapter 21

Xezibeh was waiting for him at the base of the path, Dayii tucked in his arms. At the sight of Kkrokpe his hatchling immediately began to squirm.

“Father!”

Xezibeh put him down and Kkrokpe knelt to gather his son into his arms. Dayii chirred and clicked and Kkrokpe purred in response, stroking back short antennae.

Dayii buried his face against Kkrokpe‘s shoulder. “I was frightened, Father.”

“I am sorry, little one. But there is no reason to be frightened any longer.”

“Xezibeh would not tell me what was going on. There was so much shouting and Wikus was gone and you were gone—”

Kkrokpe hushed the hatchling.

“I will explain later, my son. For now we must retrieve Wikus. Don’t you want to see him again?”

Dayii clicked in agreement.

Kkrokpe rose to his feet, his son’s hand clasped in his own.

“Thank you for looking after him, Xezibeh.”

His friend waved off his gratitude. “Thank me later, when I am feeling less inclined to strangle you. When I heard the crowd screaming I feared the worst.” He shook his head. “You took a good ten revolutions off my life with that stunt.”

“I apologize.”

Dayii tugged on Kkrokpe’s hand, “Father…”

Xezibeh clicked in amusement. “Go on, Kkrokpe. You can make it up to me later.”

His son at his heels, Kkrokpe hurried off to find his mate.

 

Though both he and Dayii were eager to find the human, neither Kkrokpe or his hatchling knew exactly _where_ Wikus was. Returning to the prison only produced an empty cell and the soldiers had changed shift since Wikus had been removed, which left the two of them wandering about, searching high and low until a passing worker took pity on Kkrokpe and informed them that he’d seen the human being carried off to the infirmary.

The medical center was bustling with activity and Kkrokpe scooped Dayii up to keep him from underfoot. Reaching out, he snagged a passing worker.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the alien creature that was brought here?”

The worker raised one yellow arm and gestured to the far corner, beyond a fine mesh screen.

Kkrokpe pulled the screen aside.

A green shelled individual lay on a metal table, mostly covered beneath an insulating layer, eyes closed. An orange shelled worker stood nearby, adjusting a monitor.

Kkrokpe approached the table, hesitant. His antennae waved with anxiousness; the scent was different, the body changed.

Was this really his mate?

As if he sensed his presence, the individual’s antennae twitched and eyes opened, squinting against the light of the lamps. One was the sharp gold color of his people.

But the other was a soft blue.

Kkrokpe breathed again.

“Wikus.”

 

The sight of his mate and child had Wikus jolting off the examination table, a mangled group of nonsense syllables spilling from him.

_Christopher!_

Dayii chirped with delight and reached for him. Wikus lifted his arms, the right one still human near the shoulder and accepted the hatchling, allowing the little creature to nestle against his chest. Dayii chirred in contentment.

“Is he alright?” Christopher asked the orange alien, who’d introduced itself with a double click-chirp.

The orange alien gave a buzzing laugh. “He is not used to his new mouth; he will need to learn to speak again, that is all.”

“Then you are not capable of reversing the changes?” Christopher sounded alarmed.

“We are, but—”

“Well then do so!” Christopher clicked sharply. “This was not his choice. I promised he would not be trapped like this.”

Wikus grabbed for his mate’s arm, clicking loudly.

Christopher started and stared at him.

“Wikus?”

Certain that he had the alien’s attention, Wikus shook his head slowly.

“I…do not understand. This was unwanted…”

Wikus pressed a hand to the fronds of Christopher’s mouth. Silently grumbling over his inability to express himself, he stroked the alien’s face. His new fingers were not as deft as they had once been, but he could still feel the ridges of Christopher’s plating. The alien trembled beneath his touch, a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

“Wikus?”

Sliding his hand behind Christopher’s head, Wikus pulled the taller alien down, allowing their foreheads to press together. Long labra, which he was just beginning to learn to control, reached out to touch Christopher’s primary mouthparts.

Christopher shuddered. Slowly, short tentacles lifted and entwined with Wikus's own.

It didn’t feel anything like a human kiss, but as Christopher’s antennae dipped down and brushed against his, sending pleasurable tingles down his back, Wikus thought that it might be just as good.

He withdrew, bumping his head lightly against Christopher’s as he did so. Tension had drained from Christopher and he looked peaceful, if a bit dazed.

_Fokking alien._ Wikus thought fondly.

Christopher turned to the orange alien. “Can he come home soon?”

The alien unclipped a wire from Wikus's hand. “As long as you make sure to keep the parts still changing clean, I don’t see why he can’t return now.”

Eager to see the last of the cold infirmary, Wikus struggled to stand, Dayii still tucked against him. Christopher caught him as he wobbled for a moment on unfamiliar feet, tugging aside the blanket.

“Are you sure he’s alright to leave?” Christopher’s tone was concerned.

“What he needs is rest and he can get that more easily in your nest than here.” The orange alien made a sound of amusement. “Now go, and don’t let me see you back here until that new hatchling gets a bit bigger. It would be smart to keep an eye on the development.”

Wikus froze, staring at the orange alien.

Christopher went rigid beside him.

“What?”

_What?_

The orange alien continued blithely. “Congratulations, by the way. I was a bit concerned to see that the embryo had taken so soon, but it’s impressive all the same.”

“Of course. Ah, thank you,” Christopher replied, his clicks rapid. “It’s getting very late and we should get back home.”

Stupefied, Wikus allowed Christopher to tow him all the way through the infirmary and outside before he pulled himself together. Throwing his weight in reverse he pulled away from the alien. Christopher looked intently at the ground, embarrassed.

“I am sorry, Wikus. I did not anticipate that this would be a problem, but I should have been more careful.” Christopher hesitated. “It might be safer, if you would prefer not to carry it.”

Dayii squirmed against his side and Wikus automatically hiked the hatchling up before he could slip from his grasp. He stared at the alien. Christopher was silent, his posture hunched.

Wikus gave an internal sigh.

He stepped up to Christopher. Slipping a hand beneath the base of his jaw, he tilted the alien’s head up until their gazes met.

Then he grasped one of the long tentacles and gave a sharp tug.

Christopher yelped in pain.

_That is for getting me fokking **pregnant** , you bastard._

Wikus stroked the labra, soothing it.

_And that’s for giving me a home when I thought I’d never have one again._

He reached down to grasp his mate’s hand, tugging Christopher in the direction of their nest.

_Let’s go home._


End file.
